See no Evil
by madefornight
Summary: "Who is this?" John rolled his eyes, "Sherlock this is Hanna, my new flatmate. The kinder, blind, woman version of you." Hanna Hooper is the sister of Sherlock's' favorite pathologist. While he finds Molly perfectly transparent, Hanna remains the perfect mystery to him. (Sherlock/OC) NOW HAS A SEQUEL: Speak no Lies
1. I'm not Helpless

**idk if this thing will notify my followers that im replacing some of my chapters but im going to go through and rewrite the first ten or so chapters of this story. the plot will stay the same but hopefully it'll smooth out a little. **

**because I've never done this on any of my stories (because i think it's stupid and a waste of time) **

**_I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK OR ANY OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS FROM THE SHOW_****. if i did you could be damn sure that this story would be on TV and not i do however own this plot, Hanna and all other OC's that i have in here. okay? we good? good. **

* * *

"You knew him well."

She paused, her fingers clinking against the coffee cup in her hands. "I like to think so."

"What does that mean?" I scoffed, as one of my cats jumped up next to me.

"Well I guess you never really know someone," she said shifting in her seat, causing the leather to groan. "I never in my wildest dreams thought he would- well that he'd do what he did."

"But you knew him, that's something. I would have loved to meet him," I said leaning back in my love seat, running my fingers through the soft fur of the creature beside me.

"If I didn't know differently I would say knew him better," she let out a small laugh. "You could predict his every move." She said and I rolled my eyes.

"I certainly didn't predict him jumping off a building," I smirked around the rim of my coffee mug.

"You know what I mean," she said setting her cup down on my coffee table with a loud clank. "You told me, 'Molly, watch him. He's going to do something brilliant and incredibly stupid' and you were right."

"Molly, I was nothing but a fan girl," I chuckled.

"But I could never do what you did Hanna," she sighed. "I didn't have a clue about the man."

"Well I am a certified genius," I shrugged as I stood up and held out a hand. "Here, I'll get you some more."

"Thank you," she said placing the ceramic cup firmly in my hands. I walked into my kitchen and grabbed the coffee pot, burning my fingers on the hot glass as I did.

Always just a little off, I thought, grinding my teeth as I moved my hand up two inches and one to the left. I refilled the cups and walked back into the living room. I held out her cup and she rose slightly to take it from me, the leather of the seat groaning as she moved. I ran my fingers across my seat to be sure that none of my cats had crawled up there while I was gone before I sat down. I placed my coffee cup back on the table and Molly gasped.

"Hanna, your fingers," she said grabbing a hold of my right hand.

"They're fine," I said pulling away. "Its' not even a real burn, it'll be gone within the hour."

"The tips are all red," she scolded. "I should have gone to get the coffee."

"It's my house, Molly," I rolled my eyes again. "I'm supposed to serve you"

She hesitated.

"Just because I'm blind doesn't mean I'm helpless," I smiled at her as I withdrew from her grasp.

"Don't you think you should be living with someone?" she asked.

I frowned, "have something to say?" I challenged her. "Perhaps you'll clear up why you choose to stop by in the first place. It's not like you to drop in out of the blue like this Molly, hell I haven't seen you in nearly a year. So what is it?"

"You need to get out of this house," she said clasping her hands together like our mother did when we were about to get talked do.

"No," I snapped back without hesitation.

"Hanna, it's been five years," she said in a stern voice, a voice very unlike the one my sister normally used. She was known for her nervous but sweet nature. What could be going on that has changed it, I wondered idly.

"It's not happening," I growled.

"It's for your own good," she insisted. "Hanna being in this house is killing you- and I will not watch my sister self-destruct."

"Then what do you suggest?" I asked annoyed now with her persistence.

"I know someone," she said scooting forward, her voice returning to its natural softness. "He's a good man, he's use to accompanying someone who's as smart as you are-"

"Watson?" I demanded. "Are you mad?"

"I'm not!" she said hurriedly. "He's a really sweet guy!"

"I know," I narrowed my eyes, "but that doesn't make this idea any less absurd."

"No it's not," she insisted, her warm hand reaching forward to squeeze mine. "Think about it Hanna! He's a good, kind man. He's a doctor and can help you if something happens. And you'll be around people! You'll be in the heart of London… something I know you miss."

I let out a bitter laugh, "and why is it you're offering your friend's house but not your own?"

"Because I know you'd never take my help," she chuckled nervously as she stood up. "Do this Hanna. You need to get out of this house."


	2. Hanna Hooper

John sat down in his arm-chair. Across from him, the empty leather seat that Sherlock once occupied. John closed his eyes, remembering standing on the street while his best friend stood on the roof of Saint Bart's hospitable. That was one year ago and the flat still felt empty. When he sat still for too long or Mrs. Hudson was out and the place was completely quiet, John could almost hear him. Usually in these fantasies Sherlock would berate him about moving his microscope or having Molly take away the body parts he'd been experimenting on. But then there would be a noise or Mrs. Hudson would come up to check on him and it would be gone.

One year had passed and John was managing. He still missed his brilliant and moronic flat mate and part of him still felt that there was still some hope. That the body he helped bury wasn't real or… something. But that part had shrunk and faded away as time went on.

The phone rang, making him jump and dashed for the receiver. "Yes? Hello," he asked as that part of him flared up again like it always did when the phone rang.

"John," Molly's voice shook over the phone. "Are you ok? Is something wrong?"

"Sorry, just a little jumpy. What do you need?" he said trying not to let himself be disappointed yet again. It wasn't the bloody consulting detective on the other line; it never would be.

"Well," she hesitated. "My sister is looking for a new flat in London, and since I know you're looking for a flat mate I was wondering if she could stop by sometime later today?"

She won't last more than a month; he thought running his free hand through his hair. "Um yeah, sure- I guess. But I don't know how well it'll go. People have been running through here like a train station but none of them have worked out."

He could almost hear the smile in her voice, "trust me John; Hanna will be the perfect fit for you. She should be there soon, let me know how it goes." He nodded slightly and hung up the phone, feeling bad for a moment when he realized that she couldn't actually see him nod.

"How are you today dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked, standing in the doorway.

"Fine, I'm fine," he muttered turning towards the fireplace where that stupid skull still sat.

"Ah, well," She sighed before turning towards the hall. "There is someone here to see you, do you know a Hanna?"

He raised an eyebrow and turned back towards her. "Molly's sister, yes. Let her in" she nodded and turned but didn't move.

She made her way through the door, a girl, no more than twenty-five with long white blond hair. She wore big black sunglasses over her eyes that felt out-of-place on her narrow, elf like face. She wore skinny jeans with brown flat boots that came up to her mid-shin. She had on a grey long sleeve shirt and a thin brown vest with a furry hood. Clutched in her hands was a silver walking stick with a swirly design engraved into the sides of it and a large glass orb stuck to the top.

"You must be Hanna," he said frowning slightly; something was off about this girl that he could quiet place. "Molly literary just called me about you"

"I know," she said with a forced smile. "I was waiting outside for her to text me back."

He let out a hard laugh, "I hope it wasn't long."

"Long enough," she shrugged.

He shifted uncomfortably, "She said you were looking for a flat."

"My sister tends to miss interrupt things," she sighed. "I rent a home up north. She thought it would be best if I didn't live on my own anymore. Something about 'having someone around just in case"'."

"In case?" he asked.

She paused, tilting her head to the side. "You haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

She paused again, removing her sunglasses and putting them in her pocket. That's when he realized what had bothered him. Her sunglasses, she wouldn't need them on such a cloudy day. Her unfocused eyes were the last clue. "You're blind."

"As a bat," she mused. "But don't think that it'll be an issue. I only need about an hour in each room to find my way around."

"Molly sent you here so Mrs. Hudson could take care of you," he concluded and she shook her head chuckling.

"No, she sent me here so that you could take care of me," she explained still laughing. "She thinks you need someone to take care of like you took care of Sherlock"

He raised an eyebrow, "You disagree?" He asked, sobering her laughter.

"I know you need someone to take care of," She shrugged and John frowned. "I don't need to be cared for."

He paused a moment, "you don't?"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes; an almost offended tone colored her voice. "People think that because I'm blind I need help, I don't."

He held up his hands in surrender. "Ok, ok. If you say so"

"I do," she snapped and he realized that she didn't see him raise his hands. "Now, we have to go. Lestrade is expecting us in ten minutes."

"Lestrade?" he raised an eyebrow. "Expecting us- wha- why?"

"Because I called in a favor," she said, her voice growing more annoyed. "He owes me. Now, if twenty questions are over, let's go." her tone was cold and final as she turned to walk down the hall.

"Whoa, wait," John called, gathering his jacket before running after the surprisingly spry blind girl. He barely caught up with her, making it out the door just before her cabby drove off. He muttered his apology to the driver before turning to look expectantly at Hanna.

She didn't say anything but stared blankly ahead. He waited a few more moments waiting for her to say something before he remembered. She's blind; she doesn't know that he is staring at her. He turned his head to look out of the window only to hear an angry sigh from Hanna.

"You did it again John," she said turning to face him.

"Did what?" he asked slightly annoyed.

"You're treating me different," she said. "You were angry with me for running out like I did. You waited for me to say something but when you remember I was blind you dropped it. Do not do that."

"What do you want me to do," he asked.

"I don't want you to let me off the hook," she said simply. "If you are angry with me then say something. If it was Sherlock you would have laid into him-"

"-And he would have ignored me-"

"-the point is!" she spoke over him, "You wouldn't have let him get away with it without saying something, would you?"

He let out a frustrated breath. "It's just-"

"What John?" she demanded, "What is it? Just spit it out already!"

"I don't know how to act around you," he shouted. "I've never met a blind person before, I don't what to do."

She shook her head and sighed. "You'll learn as we go along but for now, just treat me like a normal person until I tell you otherwise." The rest of the ride was a quiet one. Hanna's face was turned towards the window. John watched her, her blue eyes staring blankly out at the window as London passed them by. There was something sad in those eyes, something he knew she wasn't ready to talk to him about.

The cab pulled over and Hanna got out swiftly. John paid the cabby and stepped out to the pavement. Up the road he saw the flashing light and uniforms of the police as they kept the crowd at bay. He started up the road to see what had happened when he noticed Hanna hanging back.

"Are you ok?" he asked walked back towards her.

She shifted uncomfortably. "My glasses," she started her hand reaching around in her pockets of her vest. "I think I they fell out while we were in the cab."

"Well you don't really need them," he shrugged and she pursed her lips.

"No I don't need them," she muttered. "It's just sort of..." she trailed off shaking her head. "Never mind let's go," she held out her hand and he raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he asked looking from her hand to her face.

She smirked slightly. "It'll go quicker if you guide me. There are people around who could bump me and knock me over. People are much too busy now days to take notice of the little things like the blind girl coming up the pavement."

He sighed taking her hand, "so why do the blind wear sunglasses?" he asked as they made their way to the flashing lights.

"It because we know that it makes 'normal' people feel more comfortable around us," she said with a shrug. "It helps them figure out we're blind and covers our eyes which freak some people out."

"Why do you wear sunglasses?"

"Isn't that the same question?"

"In your answer you kept saying 'we' and 'us'," he shrugged. "Sounded rather rehearsed to me, like the answer you give but not necessarily the truth."

She smiled, "I guess living with Mr. Holmes rubbed off on you."

"How did you-"

"Molly's sister, remember?" she chuckled. "But to answer your question: I wear sunglasses… to hide."

"Hide?" he frowned, "from what?" she didn't answer and John knew that the conversation was over.

They walked up to the yellow tape and John waved down Lestrade. "John," the man greeted holding the tape up for them to pass through. "And Hanna," he said taking her arm to guide her under the tape. "It's good to see you, how long has it been?"

"Five years and eighty-one days," Hanna shrugged before stepping back over to John and taking his hand. "But who's counting?"

"Yeah, right," Lestrade sighed running a hand through his hair. "Well shall we go inside then?" he asked before leading them into the old building.


	3. Theory of a Dead Girl

John looked between Hanna and Lestrade, one eyebrow raised but he asked no questions. They walked up the stairs into the apartment; a woman was sprawled across a torn and dirty rug. John took his usual spot along the wall and Hanna frowned from the door frame. "John? Why are you standing there? I need your help"

"Me?" he frowned looking at her. "What could you need my help with?"

"I'm blind you fool," she said with a large amount of sass as she rolled her eyes dramatically. "I need you to see for me."

"How?" he asked.

"Describe the scene, leave nothing out" she said simply as she rested against the door. John frowned looking at Lestrade who shrugged. "Boys, enough of the silent communication, we don't have all day."

John jumped looked at her with wide eye as a smirk crossed her lips. "Don't question it, John. Just move"

Shock still lingered as he approached the dead woman and began his examination. "She's young, probably early twenties-"

"Nineteen," Lestrade said. "According to her identification."

"Lestrade, do not speak unless spoken too," Hanna said quietly before motioning for John to continue.

"Right, well" John said looking between the two. "Looks like strangulation; her throat is bruised beyond belief."

"What is she wearing?"

"What?"

"Come on John," she persisted. "I'm not asking you to sleep with her, just tell me what she's wearing."

He shifted, tossing Lestrade and uncomfortable glance. "A small skirt-"

"Details!" she urged.

He let out a frustrated breath, "A very small leather skirt, so small that I can clearly tell she isn't wearing any nickers."

"Good, continue" she said.

"A black lacy camisole-"

"Really?"

"Yes and a dark blue lace bra," He continued looking over the girl in front of her. "She has blue eye shadow on and a ruby lipstick."

"What about her hair?"

"Up in a ponytail," he shrugged. "Curled, clearly dyed blond; her roots are showing."

"Natural color?"

"Red head."

"Hmm," she was silent for a moment. "What about shoes?"

He looked around, "Not wearing any and I don't see them in the room."

"Lestrade?" she asked cocking her head in the detectives direction.

"They were found on the stairs," he said.

"Tossed aside as they made their way up here," she sighed heavily. "There is another room to this apartment, yes?"

"Yes," John said. "A bedroom why?"

"Get the name of the tenant," she said with a thoughtful frown. "it'll be a fake but we don't want any loss ends that will let this man walk."

"What are you on about?" John asked.

"There isn't much here," she said. "Furniture wise, am I right?"

"A rug and an old bed" Lestrade said.

"It's a sex cave" she said with a humorless laugh. "He goes out finds a girl, brings her back here and then proceeds to rape her-"

"But if she's willingly following him here… that's not rape," John said raising an eyebrow.

"No, that is not necessarily rape," she sighed again. "But he has a fantasy to play out, not one any woman would willingly entertain… this girl is just like the others you've found."

"But she was strangled," Lestrade said. "Not stabbed like them."

"Because she wasn't like the others," She said moving around the body and towards the window.

"Others?" John asked.

"Five women all stabbed to death in less than two weeks," Lestrade said. "How did you know about that Hanna? We left cause of death out of the papers"

"My sister is your pathologist," she whispered, his sightless eyes looking out across the evening sky.

"So why do you think she's another victim?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes, turning back to them, "she's dressed as a party girl, her hair is dyed blond and she was found in a sex cave; the same as all the others."

"But you said she was different," John pointed out. "How?"

"The other girls are all between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two," she said

John frowned, "and she's nineteen-"

"Sixteen," she cut him off. "I'm almost positive she's sixteen."

Lestrade gives her a skeptical look. "What makes you say that?"

"The clothes," Hanna said gesturing to the body. "She's wearing a little girls' interpretation of a party girls outfit."

"What makes you say that?"

She gave them a sad smile, "she's wearing a bra."

The man paused, "ok but maybe she's just not a party girl, why is she sixteen"

"Ruby lipstick doesn't go well with that shade of blue, only a teenager with limited resources would make that choice. There for she's not his type and cannot fulfill the role he desires, he realizes that and gets angry. When she's dead he takes his souvenir and leaves"

"Souvenir?"

"Her nickers," she said. "Do you really think she would leave the house with a bra but without her nickers?"

John looked at her from his spot near the body with wide eyes. "That was… amazing."

"Yes well," she shrugged shifting uneasily. "It's only a theory; Lestrade can make do with it as he wishes."

"Sounds good enough to me," he said.

"Right then," she turned towards John holding out her hand. "Let's go."

This time he didn't hesitate in taking it and leading her out of the building with Lestrade following them closely. John called a cabby and helped Hanna inside. "A word, John?" Lestrade asked and he nodded.

"What is it?"

"Hanna," he said.

"What about her?"

"I just want to make sure she's taken care of," the taller man said with a serious look.

John raised an eyebrow, "I noticed a little tension between the two of you."

"Yes well you'd have to be blind and dumb not to," Lestrade scoffed looking at his feet.

"Mind telling me what that was about?"

Lestrade looked into John's eyes and shrugged, "it's not my story to tell, it's hers."

John nodded slowly, "right."

Lestrade laughed once, without humor, "you are always so loyal to people you barely know. First Sherlock and now Hanna-"

"What's your point?" he asked annoyed.

"Nothing, it's just…" Lestrade shrugged, "You're a good man John. Take care of her; she needs it more than she lets on."


	4. A Study of Text

**Hey guys! so what do you think so far? im sorry my updates are really random and weirdly timed but i hope you'll keep reading! :) R&R please! **

* * *

The text came in around an hour after Lestrade saw John and Hanna drive off, back to their flat. He watched them go, making sure nothing happened while he could do something about it. Shaking his head he turned back towards the crime scene. Hanna was right; he knew it, just like when he knew Sherlock was right. This unfortunately meant he would have to tell some poor girl's family that she was dead. Sometimes he hated his job.

_The girl is 16_

He looked at the text and raised an eyebrow. Why did Hanna text him? He'd just been with her and she'd told him face to face. As he went to reply asking her about it he noticed something at the bottom.

_-SH_

That made him freeze. Sherlock? What-but- no! It was impossible! His own brother confirmed his death, Sherlock Holmes was dead, but here was a text saying otherwise. No, it was an imposter that all it could be. But how did they know about the girl? How did they know that the girl was sixteen when the story wasn't even released yet? Better yet, if it was Sherlock, then how did he manage to sneak onto the scene and off again without anyone noticing?

He waved down a cabby leaving Donavan to take care of the scene. He needed help with this, with the only smart enough to rival Sherlock Holmes or his imposter.

* * *

John watched Hanna, from the archway of the kitchen, as she slowly made her way around the living room. Her walking stick was set against the wall near the door to the hall and her vest was hung up next to his. He watched as her tiny hands touched everything. Her fingers running along the back of Sherlock's leather chair, glossing over the immense collections books most of which he'd never read.

"John can I get a cup of tea?" she asked suddenly as she pulled out her phone from her pocket. She put in the ear buds and clicked a button. Standing there for a moment she rolls her eyes as she wrapped the cord back around the cell and put it back into her pocket. "John, the tea?" she inquired.

"sure, sure" he said turning into the kitchen and putting the kettle on. As he walked back to the living room he felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out to see a new message from an unknown number as well as a message from Lestrade.

_I'm on my way over, I need to speak to Hanna. –Lestrade_

Over my dead body, John thought sitting down in his chair before scrolling over to the other message. He was about to open it when the doorbell rang.

"that'll be Lestrade" Hanna said without turning away from the fireplace she was no in front of. "let him in John, I'll speak with him"

"are you sure?" he asked standing up as he pocketed his phone.

"Yes" she smiled turning her head towards him. Her unfocused blue eyes looking glancing over him and he sighed. She would never stair at him, never see him. Never see anything for that matter.

"John" she smirked before turning back. "the door, don't keep the inspector waiting" he nodded and walked out the hall and down the stairs. He opened the door just before Mrs. Hudson got to it and smiled at her to go back inside.

"John" the man on the other side greeted him before moving as if to enter the building.

"listen very closely" John said in a low tone. "the only reason I'm letting you in is because Hanna said it was alright. The moment I feel like you're upsetting her, I will tell you to leave-"

"I got-"

"and you will leave" John said, his cold eyes sending chills down the other man's spine. He nodded and John moved aside. When he reentered the room Hanna was seated in Sherlock's old chair. Normally he would have protested when someone sat there but it seemed that Hanna fit perfectly in the spot vacated by his old friend.

"Hello Lestrade" she greeted him with a nod. "I understand you have a message for me"

"I do"

"John?" she asked. "why are you still here?"

The man frowned, "what do you mean?"

"did you get your message?" she asked raising an eyebrow. Still frowning he pulled out his phone and opened the message.


	5. Cause and Effect

I heard John suddenly run to the door, grabbing his coat and knocking over my walking stick in the process. He hastily picked it up before running into the hall and down the stairs. With a smirk I turned back to Lestrade. "Before you speak, would you mind getting the kettle? John forgot about it in his haste"

"The kettle?" he asked just as it went off. Five minutes to boil exactly, I was really getting too good at this game. He pulled it off the stove and set it aside to cool before returning to take Johns seat.

"so" I said as he sat down. "you're here"

"and you know exactly what for"

"I have a guess" I mused. "a text from the dead"

"yes"

"Or an imposter" I reasoned. "But you already thought about that"

"An imposter… is the reasonable assumption" he said, his voice rough with stress.

"And yet here you are"

He sighed, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. "Am I crazy? Is this an imposter?"

"You know the answer to that Lestrade" I scoffed turning away from him.

"But it's impossible!" he shouted standing up suddenly. "He's dead! I saw the body!"

"As did his brother, as did john- who also saw him jump, I might add- my sister also saw the body, so did your partner and Anderson" I said in a soft voice, so I didn't agitate him. "And yet he lives"

"That can't be" however firm his words were his tone was so weak that not even a child would believe him.

"Sherlock Holmes" I said standing up and walking carefully over to the fire place. "A brilliant man, a mind like a computer. The kind that only comes around once in a generation-"

"-He can't be-"

"And yet he is" I said firmly. "Do you really think a mind like his couldn't find a way out of whatever impossible trap Moriarty put him in? Sherlock is alive, and he's not entirely happy that you've come to me for help"

When he spoke again it was in defeat, "what makes you say that?"

"He sent me a text like he did you and John" I said pulling my phone from my pocket and removing the ear buds.

"What is that?" he asked.

"My phone" I said. "Because I'm blind I can't read text messages so it reads them too me" I hit the button on the side

_One saved message, _the phone shouted out of its speaker. _The blind cannot observe or deduce. You are in over your head….. –SH_

Lestrade was quiet for a moment. "He sent that to you?"

"No I wrote it myself" I rolled my eyes.

"The sarcasm is a little much don't you think?" he asked bitterly. "What happened to you Hanna? You were so-"

"That was before" I cut him off. "Before you ruined everything"

"That wasn't my fault!" he shouted. "I did everything-"

"NOT everything" I corrected him. "Everything is what you do now; you call on help because you know you are hopelessly lost! Before…. Before you were arrogant and thought you knew better than Sherlock. You refused to call him and I lost my sight! So don't tell me you tired everything Lestrade because we both know that you didn't."


	6. Molly Hooper

Sherlock Holmes stood near the window, his phone in hand as he looked over the message again. He had to admit it was mostly out of anger that he sent those texts; anger at Lestrade and John but mostly at the girl. Who did she think she was? That little blind girl trying to observe, to deduce! That was his job, his field of expertise!

The door opened and he turned to see Molly walk in with two bags of groceries. She struggled a bit with the door and he picked up his violin to begin playing. Molly set the bags on the counter in the kitchen and turned an annoyed glare on Sherlock. "Thank you so much for the help Sherlock. It was really, very nice of you"

"The sarcasm is a little over the top don't you think?" he mumbled as he continued to play.

"You're unbelievable" she growled taking off her jacket at putting it in the closet. She left the closet door open again, he noted as she walked into the kitchen and began putting away the food.

"You've been living with me for nearly a year now Molly" he said setting aside his violin and walking into the kitchen, closing the closet door as he passed. "Surely you've come to know this by now"

"Yeah but sometime I forget" she muttered bitterly.

"So- bad day at work then?" he asked glancing over the paper bags. She forgot his shampoo again, an act he suspected to be intentional; A punishment for keeping her up very late last night by playing the violin into the morning hours. He couldn't help it he needed to think, think about the perplexing problem of the fact that the body of the girl had been discovered more than two days ago but they still hadn't caught the killer. He'd made his first mistake and yet it appeared Lestrade was too incompetent to find anything further.

"Not a good one" she admitted with a sigh as she ran a stressed hand threw her hair. "A girl, no more than sixteen… her parents came in to identify the body today."

"How tragic" he murmured, his thumb raking across his lips as he stared absently at the floor on the other side of the counter. Or perhaps she was punishing him for forgetting to water her plants like he'd promised to. She went around for ages throwing away the dead shrubs and washing the decorative pots they'd been in.

"Now if only you actually meant that" she rolled her eyes.

"What makes you think I don't?"

"Sherlock you don't feel anything that could get in the way of solving a case" she said putting away the milk and eggs. "Now what do you want for dinner?"

"Who is the girl?" he asked suddenly.

She paused a moment "the girl?" she questioned, surprise coloring her tone. "Her name was Jennifer, Jennifer-"

He waved off her thought, "not her, the other one!"

"What other one?" she asked grinding her teeth in annoyance.

"The one that is currently living in my flat" he said, his eyes locked on hers.

He expected her to flinch, to turn away and deny knowing anything about that. He expected little Molly Hooper to blush at being caught and quietly give up all the information he desired. But she didn't. Molly met his cold accusing gaze with her own icy resistance and Sherlock realized he'd miscalculated. The Molly he was standing face to face with was not the Molly of a year ago. She'd grown since then, learned to brace herself against his gaze which once made her feel helpless. She wasn't that small blushing school girl like creature he once knew. She was Molly Hooper, the woman made of steal.

"Why would you think I know anything about that?" she asked, her palms flat against the surface that separated them.

"You know why."

"But do you?" she asked raising an eyebrow. "Has the great Sherlock Holmes lost a step in a year of absence?"

"I haven't."

"Then prove it" she smiled, almost to herself. "Who is the girl?"


	7. A Study of Notes

Sherlock called a cab the next morning, intending on going to Lestrade and striating out the mess that has become this case. How it still went unsolved was beyond him but he intended to fix it. "where too?" the man behind the wheel asked as he climbed into the back.

"221 Baker Street" he said before he could stop himself. Wait, what?

"What was that?" the man asked turning up his hearing aid.

"221 Baker Street" he said again, surprising himself again but he made no action to fix it. Why was he going to Baker Street, He wondered idly as the cabby drove off. John was at work with Molly, who'd gotten him a job as her assistant shortly after the whole Moriarty incident. Mrs. Hudson was off at morning tea with a few old friends of hers a she always did on Tuesdays. So why would he go there?

"Ahhh" he breathed, a faint smile on his face as he turned to look back out the window. "Of course"

"What was that sir?" the driver asked glancing back at Sherlock.

"It's nothing" he mused, running his gloved finger over his lips. "Just drive." When he stepped out onto the street, ten minutes later, he felt... different. He couldn't get over the surge of joy that being in this familiar place brought him. It made him both happy and unsettled.

He started to reach for the extra key when something caught his eye. It was a note taped to the door in thick bold print.

Come in S.H. –H.H.

He glared slightly at the note before twisting the handle and entering the familiar dwellings. He walked up the stairs quickly and quietly. He could hear the rather loud music echoing off the walls but he also knew that the blind's hearing was better than any ordinary persons. He entered the living room quietly and glanced around. Everything was as he'd last seen it. Maybe tidied up a bit but virtually untouched.

Turning the corner he saw a radio placed on top of the table that was once covered in his experiments. Plugged into said radio was a small mp3 player from which the music was playing. The Girl was dancing around the table, her careful hands running along the appliances as she moved to the music.

Sherlock stood in the door way and watched her move. Her light white sun dress swayed around her as she spun around to cross to the other side of the kitchen. Her light hair was tied back in two braids and combine with the dress made her look very young. Sherlock was amazed at how small she was, or looked at least; she moved too much for him to get a good read on her.

"But here's my number" she sang as she danced. "so call me maybe"

He rolled his eyes as continued to watch her. Her small hands opened every cabinet and drawer feeling its contents as she danced to the song. Just as she reached the end of her exploration she moved back, towards him. He stepped back to avoid collision but she surprised him by spinning suddenly over to the dishwasher. The floor creaked beneath his foot and he froze, waiting for her to say something.

But she didn't. She didn't even hesitate in her dance as she opened the dishwasher and began to put away the clean dishes. He raised an eyebrow, why didn't she hear him? The music was fairly loud but if he heard it with the she defiantly should have heard it.

"You should go" she said suddenly as she moved to turn the music down. "Mrs. Hudson will be back in five minutes and you wouldn't want to be caught alive when you're dead" he glanced at his watch and realized he'd been there for the better part of two hours and she was right, Mrs. Hudson would be back in five minutes. "And if you wouldn't mind grabbing the note I left you off the doorknob? Don't need her asking questions now do we?"

Without a word he turned to walk out the door and flagged down the first taxi he saw. He took it back to Molly's house where he stood in the living room not sure of what to do next. What was he going to do before his trip to Bakers Street? He couldn't remember. That Girl… she'd hypnotized him, drugged him, she did something to him that made him loose track of time but what?

A few hours later Molly came home and Sherlock was standing in the window playing his violin again. She declared she needed a shower before walking away to her bathroom and locking the door.

Molly's shower was heaven. She could feel the stress leave her body as the warm water flowed over her. She was so content that she didn't realize, just outside the bathroom door in the living room Sherlock stood against the window frame. His violin was put away and his cold eyes watch the London streets. In his hand the crumpled remains of a note.

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**im glad you guys are enjoying this! i was a little unsure of this story before but now i have a million ideas for Hanna and Sherlock! you can expect a lot of chapters in the next few days :D please dont forget to R&R! they make me happy and want to write more! **


	8. The Monster

When John came home I was in the living room sitting at my computer. "How was your day?" I asked as my fingers glided across the pad in front of the key board.

"Fine" he sighed, hanging up his jacket. "There was another murder, the one that goes after the women."

"Lestrade still hasn't caught him?" I asked turning around to face him. "But they found that girl a week and a half ago!"

"And while you gave him a lot on the girl, you didn't give him much on the monster doing this" John pointed out as he walked into the kitchen, the floor creaking under his weight.

"Yes and an inspector shouldn't need so much help" I growled turning back to the computer. "But then again he is an incompetent bastard." And, I thought, monsters are hard to find.

"You have a lot of anger towards him" John said filling the kettle with water before letting it clank loudly on the stove top.

"I have a lot of anger towards a lot of people john" I said as I pulled up the article on the new victim and began reading. Maybe it was time for me to call Lestrade, help him with this monster since he was too incompetent to find mine.

"Yes well you don't show it…" he trailed off as he reentered the living room. "Hey how are you on the computer if you can see?"

"Oh please" I laughed at him. "Something as exciting as the internet and you think us blind people wouldn't want a part of it?"

He moved to stand behind me, "how do you do it then?"

"This pad" I said, my fingers still running across it. "It recreates the web page on the screen and puts the words into brail so that I can read it."

"Ok and what about clicking?" he asked. He placed his hand on the back of my chair and leaned forward to brace the other against the table near my arm.

"Double tap" I smiled as I clicked next to continue reading the rest of the article.

"That's amazing" he breathed as he turned to walk over to his chair.

"Well for two million pounds it better be" I mused before shutting it down and walking over to where my last couple boxes sat near the door way.

"Excuse me- how much?" he asked, shock making his pitch raise slightly.

"Two million" I said as I opened the one on top and ran my fingers lightly over the contents. My books perfect. I could feel him staring at me as I made my way over to the book shelf I'd cleared off earlier. I didn't know what the titles where but I figured it wasn't too much to ask for the two lowest shelves for my books.

"How-" he stopped himself. "I don't mean to pry-but how-"

"-Can I afford it?" I asked turning to face him briefly before I resumed putting my books away. "My settlement was quiet large."

"Settlement?" he asked. "So you sued after your-"

"After I lost my site I needed help" I said in a low tone. Painful memories came rushing back as I spoke, memories a time when my Monster was hiding in the shadows, waiting to catch me alone. "Basic, everyday things were now a challenge and I was angry. I sued Scotland Yard and won." the kettle went off, ending the conversation.

"Leave the bag out" I called as he went to get us cups. "I like to put it in myself"

"Yeah I know" he said before walking back into the room. "I left it on your table with the teabag next to it."

"Thank you" I said running my fingers over the spins of my books before placing them on the shelves.

"Do you need any help?" he asked walking over towards my chair; His finger tapping rhythmically against his cup.

"Do you suddenly know how to read brail?" I asked raising an eyebrow at him.

"I-well- no but"

"Then I'm fine John" I smiled. "Normal person, remember? I can put my books away on my own."

"I want to help" he said shifting uneasily, the floor creaking underneath him.

"Then can you put the rest of my boxes in my room?" I asked turning back to the shelf. "On the far wall under the window please"

"Right, ok" he said before setting his tea on his table and walking over to the boxes. There were three boxes left of the things I'd decided to bring with me to the flat. The rest of my stuff including much of my furniture had been put into storage. I idly wondered how long it would be in there before I had to move out. Sherlock was alive, and while I was currently living here I knew it was only a matter of time before he would ask for his space back. I would give it to him, no use arguing over it.

When he came back from my room I was sitting in my chair sipping my tea as I ran my fingers over the first page of my favorite book. "Thank you John" I said as he sat down, I turned the page and paused, my fingers running over a sticky note. Oh god.

"Hanna-"

"Not tonight John" I said cutting him off as I stood up. Tucking my book under my arm I made my way to the kitchen entryway. I turned to look back at him, "I'm done talking for tonight. I'll see you in the morning, yes?"

"I-um- sure" he said turning in his chair to face him. "Goodnight Hanna"

I smiled at him, "Good night John." I walked quickly to my room and closed the door behind me. I set my tea and book on the nightstand before sitting down on the bed. There I sat, waiting, listening for even the slightest sound.

But as I felt the bed move under his weight I remembered. Remembered how quiet he was, how he never made sound when he moved. I remembered that Monsters never make a sound; they appear out of thin air. Out of the Shadows.

"Hello Hanna" he said, his voice low and smooth. His fingers running down my arm before taking my hand into his. "It's been a while. I missed you"

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my shaking voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Don't take that tone with me luv" he said, his grip on my hand tightened painfully.

"I'm sorry" I whispered and he released my hand. He pushed me back on my bed, his hands on either side of my head and he bent down to put his lips to my ear.

"I heard you were helping the police with one of my girls" he said smelling my hair.

"Your-"

"Shhhh" he silenced me with a nip to my earlobe. "Now, I've been trying to get your attention for a long time Hanna, but I just will not tolerate you working against me." I said nothing as his teeth grazed against my neck.

"But now that I've gained your attention, I guess I don't need the girls anymore" he hissed. "So the one I killed before coming over here was a waist…" I whimpered as I felt his hand close around my throat.

"Hush now Hanna" he whispered in a soft voice. "There is no need to be afraid, I'm here to protect you from the monsters, remember?" I nodded slowly and he withdrew his body from mine. I heard the window shut but I dared not move. Hours passed before I crawled under the blankets but that night, I did not sleep.

* * *

**And here we meet our monster, delightful isn't he? Leave me a review telling me what you think of our little bad boy :) but don't get too attached, he is a Monster remember...**


	9. The Mail

The next morning John rose to the pans clanging and the smell of bacon in the air. His first instinct was to fear for Hanna's safety but he swallowed down the urge to run into the kitchen and being applying any first aid he deemed necessary, and calmly got out of bed. She was a normal person… she could cook breakfast…normally…

"Good morning" she smiled cheerily as she flipped over a piece of bacon.

"G-good morning" he said, looking her over for any injuries she may have.

"How did you sleep?" She asked as she continued cooking. "I hope you like your bacon crispy because that's all I know how to make"

"I slept fine," he said finding her perfectly healthy. "And I do, thank you"

"Tea will be done in two minutes and the bacon shortly after that" she said opening the cupboards and grabbing two mugs.

"Do you need any help?" He asked walking into the living room, glancing around for the paper.

"Yes actually, could you go out and get the mail?"

"But Mrs. Hudson-"

"Is our landlady, not our housekeeper" she insisted. "And while she does enjoy taking care of us she's getting on in age and we should help her out. Now go get the mail." He didn't question her; he knew by her tone that this was something she wasn't going to argue about. Just like last night when she said she was done talking. He didn't know what had happened but some switch had been flipped and she would say no more. He didn't even bother going to ask her if she was hungry and wanted supper; he would've been told no and sent away.

He got up from his chair and retied his robe before walking out into the hall. Mrs. Hudson was just coming in with the mail in her hand when he got down the stairs. "Oh hello dear" she smiled when she noticed him. "I was just bringing the mail up for the two of you"

"Yes, I see that," he smiled taking the envelopes from her. "Hanna is making breakfast if you want to join us, the tea should be done by now-"

"Mrs. Hudson?" Hanna called from the entry way. "Do you mind making the eggs? They're a little too unpredictable for me to cook"

"Oh course dear," the old woman beamed as they made their way up the stairs. "Eggs are my specialty. Ask John, I made him and Sherlock the best eggs they ever tasted- didn't I John?"

"Yes, you did," he smiled as he sat back in his chair and combed over the mail. "Hey Hanna, you have a letter here from... D.C. It looks hand written, a boyfriend perhaps?" He looked up to see her unfocused eyes locked in his direction. Her mouth was open slightly as if she was about to speak but no words came out.

"OH a love letter!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed as she began heating up a pan, not noticing Hanna's reaction. "I got love letters back in my day, but then again that's all we sent, none of this texting or email nonsense. We had real love letters. I remember this one-"

"Hanna?" He asked, cutting Mrs. Hudson off as he stood up. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she whispered. "I'm fine." Liar, he thought taking hesitant steps towards her.

"Dear, do you need to sit?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "I can take over..."

"Yes..." Hanna nodded weakly. "Thank you, I'll sit down. John, can I have my letter?" she held out her hand and he slid the envelope into her fingers. She slowly made her way over to her chair and sat down. She didn't open it, only held it in her hands as she sat there.

"What wrong?" Mrs. Hudson asked as they retreated into the kitchen. "The poor dear looked like she saw a ghost."

"I'm not sure," he said. "Whoever this D.C. fellow is… he appears to be bad news for Hanna"

"What do we do?"

He sighed, running his hands over his face. "'I'll ask Molly about it today at work- speaking of which I'm running late. Pack me a breakfast?"

"Of course, you go get ready," Mrs. Hudson nodded. "I'll stay with Hanna."

"No, don't," Hanna's voice made them both jump. "I know you have tea with friends today Mrs. Hudson. I wouldn't want to keep you from them."

"But that letter-"

"Is from an old boyfriend," Hanna said with a small smile. "Things ended… poorly between us. I never expected him to contact me again. I was quite shocked that's all. I'm fine."

John looked at her, in her light pink tank top and pajama bottoms, with her hair pulled into a pony tail. She looked like a teenager, like a little girl who needed to be protected from a boy who only wants to break her heart.


	10. Two Things

Sherlock walked up to the door to see yet another note taped to the doorknob.

Today is not a good day, go home. –H.H.

At once he was angry, how dare That Girl, tell him what to do! And this was HIS home, yes he lived with Molly but Baker Street was home. He opened to door and didn't even bother trying to be quiet today. She'd known he was there yesterday when he did everything to hide from her, why go out of his way if it would prove useless.

He walked into the living room, finding it very different from the week before. Well not very different, only two things had changed. First in the back corner of the room the two bottom shelves of books were different. They were now holding a couple dozen braille copies of different Novels. He was about to speak his outrage when the second things caught his attention.

Sitting in his chair was The Girl. She was still her in pink pajamas even though it was well past noon; he could tell she'd been there a while. She was sitting upright, her back straight and her feet planted firmly on the ground. Her hands were in her lap with a plain white envelope in her fingers. Her clear blue eyes were open and staring straight ahead, unfocused and unseeing.

"I told you today was not a good day," she said in a small voice, the envelope twirling in her hands. "Why are you here?"

He tilted his head to the side, "you told me to go home. This IS home."

She slowly inclined her head, "yes I suppose I should have been more specific."

He paused a moment. "You're clever" he said, she didn't move. "Really clever, you figured all that out about victim when you had only John's simple observations to go on."

"Yes," her voice was soft, so quiet he almost didn't catch it.

"You would have known to be more specific," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "You wanted me to come in here."

She let out a very sad, half-smile before turning her head down towards the envelope that was still twirling in her hands. "I guess you're right-"

"I'm always right," he cut her off. "The only question is why do you want me here?"

The letter stopped twirling and she looked back up at him with her unseeing eyes. "Do you believe in monsters Mr. Holmes?"

"Monsters?"

"Monsters, demons, evil so pure that you confuse it for good," she let out a hard laugh. He didn't answer her, only continued to watch her as she set the envelope on the table besides his chair. The Girl stood up and walked towards him. When she reached him she gently placed her hands on his biceps and pulled him down towards her.

"I got confused," she whispered in his ear. "And when I'm alone, The Monster comes back" she turned away from him and walked into the kitchen. She pulled out two mugs and two tea bags. He watched as she poured the water from the kettle into the mugs before bringing them back into the living room. She handed him a mug and tea bag before resuming her place in his chair. The water was barely warm when he testing it on his finger. It must have been there for hours, he thought setting it aside.

"Everyone has their demons," he said sitting in Johns chair and watching her prepare her tea.

"Demons, yes," she said taking a sip. "I guess you don't understand."

"Of course I do," he snapped. "What do you take me for, some common place idiot? I understand everything." She looked at him, her unfocused gaze sending shivers down his spine. Dear god, is this how Molly felt before? When he looked at her but didn't see her. When he stared through her like she was nothing, just a ghost; is this how she felt?

The Girl set aside her tea before standing up and crossing the distance between them. She placed her hands on the arm rests before kneeling down in front of Sherlock. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice raising an octave at his unease of the situation. She moved her hands to his lower abdomen, just above his pelvis, and laid one over the other before using them as a pillow and resting her head against him.

"I don't take you as an idiot Sherlock," she whispered, the hums of her voice against his leg making him shiver. "But you don't understand, how could you? The Monster isn't there when you're alone. The Monster doesn't fallow you everywhere you go, doesn't taunt you like it does me." He was silent, looking down and seeing nothing but a pretty girl with her head in his lap.

Turning away he thought about her words, how her tone hand changed from the possibility of a monster to her now calling it The Monster. To her The Monster was not imaginary as he originally thought, The Monster was very real, and she was very afraid.

"What do you need?" He found himself asking. She lifted her head to look at him; her clear blue eyes almost seemed to lock on his for a moment before they drifted away.

She opened her mouth, just slightly as if to say something but then closed it again. "Just- don't let me be alone," she begged him quietly. "I can't be alone."

She can't face The Monster, he thought as he brought his hands up to cup her face. "You won't be," he whispered running his thumb over her soft cheek. "Not anymore."

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**:D I really love this chapter, I really, really do. Anyway leave me a comment on what you think this means for Hanna and Sherlock!**

**Till next time, ttfn guys!**

**-Katy**


	11. Party Time

When John came home that day he found Hanna to be in much higher spirits. He noticed the letter still sat, unopened, on the table besides her chair but waved it off. She would read the letter when she was ready to read it. Right now he was just glade that she was up and moving, that she showered and had done the dishes like she'd always done.

"Hanna I'm back" he called over the very loud music she was dancing too. "Hanna? Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can!" she laughed leaning around the corner. "I hear very well, Watson, even with the music this loud"

"Oh well can you turn it down please?" he asked. "Mrs. Hudson says she can't hear herself think and the neighbors will start to complain."

"Oh party pooper" she rolled her eyes before disappearing into the kitchen. He sighed in relief as the volume turned down significantly.

"Thank you" he said taking off his coat and turning to Molly who stood in the entry way. "I'll take your coat"

"Thank you John" she smiled shrugging out of it and handing it to him.

"Is that my sister I hear?" Hanna asked coming around the corner. "Come to check in on me?"

"Just looking out for my baby sister" Molly smiled before walking over to embrace Hanna. "How are you?"

"I'm fine" Hanna smiled. "I'm sure John told you about this morning but really I'm fine."

"He said the initials were D.C." Molly said wearily. "Are you sure you're ok?"

"I'm fine" Hanna smiled. "I thought about it while everyone was gone today and its ok. Trust me"

"I trust you" Molly said. "I do not trust him"

"That makes two of us" Hanna laughed.

"Three actually" John said. "And I don't even know this bloke"

"Well" Molly said taking a step towards him. "I hope you never have to meet him"

"Are you staying for Dinner?" Hanna asked. "Because I could use your help in the kitchen"

"That was the plan" Molly said. "I believe Lestrade will be over later too"

"Inspector incompetent?" Hanna asked. "Well who invited him?"

"I did" Molly said with a disapproving frown. "Hanna you really must learn to let go of your anger, it's not becoming"

"Whatever" Hanna waved off her sister and reentered the kitchen.

John looked between Hanna and Molly, thinking he should probably say something, maybe defend Lestrade? But then Hanna will be annoyed with him and that he had to live with her. So defend Hanna's anger? Molly would have none of that, he could tell, and he owed her his job! He couldn't do that to her. "Shall I go get Mrs. Hudson? I know she loves a good party"

"Deciding not to take sides then, eh john?" Hanna called from the kitchen with a knowing smirk on her face. "Good choice"

Molly rolled her eyes, "ignore my little sister; she likes to show off how smart she is. Now go get Mrs. Hudson" John did as he was told, returning just as Lestrade was walking in the door. The group talked and laughed. Lestrade and John sat in the living room talking while the women cooked. Hanna made jokes about how a blind woman was more useful in the kitchen than those two. Mrs. Hudson told them stories from her youth and John spoke of his failed attempts to keep a girl for a longer than a few weeks. That's when it happened.

The front door opened; but no one heard it except for Hanna who went very still. When she heard the footsteps she grabbed onto Johns arm, squeezing him almost painfully. "Hanna what is it?" he asked. The others heard his concerned tone and all quieted down. Look from one another to Hanna and then back again. What was wrong?

"Don't you hear it?" she whispered turning toward john.

"Hear what?" he asked and the room got quieter; everyone listening now, for whatever was scaring her.

"Someone is here" she whispered and they all turned to look towards the hall. Only they didn't have to look that far because standing in the entry way was none other than Sherlock Holmes, back from the dead.

"What?" he asked seeing their stairs. "Am I not invited to the party?"


	12. Who?

John stood up, Hanna's hand slide from his bicep to his hand as she stood up from the arm of the chair where she'd been seated. Molly and Lestrade, who'd been in a similar position on the other chair, shifted uncomfortably. Molly's eyes wondered around the room, looking everywhere but Sherlock. Lestrade watched John carefully, prepared to jump on the man at a moment's notice. Mrs. Hudson's eyes were locked on Sherlock, her hand placed above her heart and her mouth opened as if to speak but no words came out.

Sherlock stood perfectly still as John and Hanna approached. He raised an eyebrow at their interlocked fingers before raising his eyes to meet John's cold gaze. "John," Hanna whispered beside him. "Who is it?"

"It's-" his voice broke. He shook his head and looked down at his feet for a moment before his eyes reconnected with the icy blue-green ones in front of him. "Sherlock" the moment the word left his lips Mrs. Hudson gave out a strangled sob and Molly moved to supporter the elder into the empty chair.

"Sherlock" Mrs. Hudson asked threw her tears. "Why? Why did you lie to us?"

"Because-" he started but was cut off by John's fist connecting with his cheek. Lestrade was up and out of his chair, reaching for John but Hanna blocked him.

"That's it" John said turning to Lestrade. "I'm done, if anyone needs me I'll be in my room"

"John-" Sherlock started.

"Not now" John said with a deadly tone. "Come back tomorrow and I may not kill you"

Sherlock watched John leave the room and sighed before standing back up and straighten his coat. Molly looked between him and the others before grabbing her coat and walking out the door with him. Lestrade helped Mrs. Hudson down to her room and Hanna started to clean up. Lestrade came back up to tell Hanna he was leaving and she told him to lock the door on his way out. She did the dishes and put away the leftover, they would make a good lunch for her and Sherlock in the future.

There was a creak on the kitchen floor and she froze. "Hello?" she whispered. "Are you there?"

"I'm here" John whispered as he sat down at the kitchen table.

"John" she breathed a sigh of relief. "You scared me" she closed the frigid and walked over to sit next to him.

"I'm sorry" he said, his voice soft, carrying an almost lifeless tone to it.

"John" she felt along the table for his hands that she grasped tightly. "Are you ok?"

His body shook as he let out a ragged breath, "no." she stood up and walked behind his chair. Wrapping her arms around him she hugged him tightly from behind. They stayed like that for the rest of the night.

In the morning John rolled out of bed and reached for his phone. He had a message from Molly telling him not to come into work today, she could handle it herself. He heard the cupboards shut and could smell something cooking. Hanna was at it again.

Walking into the kitchen he saw her standing over the stove top with a frying pan. "What's for breakfast?" he asked walking into the living room.

"Sausage and Toast" she said flipping one patty over, making it sizzle. "How are you today?"

"I won't kill him if that's what you mean" he replied bitterly at his rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

"That's good" she said, and he could hear the relief in her voice. "Lestrade may be useless but if Sherlock suddenly disappeared he would notice"

John didn't hear her, he was locked inside his head thinking about the night before. "He sent me a bloody message!" he shouted suddenly, standing up and pacing about the room.

"What?" Hanna asked pulling to the pan off the burner and setting it aside before moving to stand in the door frame.

"He sent me a text" John said, calmer this time. "Saying 'I'm alive'"

"When?" she asked.

"You know!" he growled. "You're the one who told me to look at the message"

"The night we met" she nodded. "You ran out of the house, where did you go?"

"Sherlock's grave" he said running his hands over his face. "He said he was alive but-" he stopped.

"You'd given a whole year of hope to the idea that he was alive" she said sitting in her chair. "Confronted with the idea that he actually was-"

"I couldn't believe it" he said. "I went to his grave to remind myself that I-I- I watched him fall, I saw him die!"

"John" she said softly. "There is someone in the hall" he spun around to see Sherlock standing in the door way looking at him warily. The two men stood there watching each other until Hanna broke the stair off by going into the kitchen and grabbing three plates from the cupboard. Slowly the two men entered the kitchen and sat down on either side of the table. Hanna placed the plates with one sausage patty and two pieces of buttered toast on each of them.

"Ok" she said sitting in the last chair at the head of the table. "Now, let's eat and talk calmly about this-"

"How could you do that to us?" John demanded, cutting her off. "Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Lestrade, me- we were your friends Sherlock…and you lied to us!"

"I did it to protect you" Sherlock said. "Moriarty had snipers set to kill, you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson unless I jumped"

"So why not tell us you were faking it?" he asked. "Why wait a whole bloody year-"

"Moriarty's people would have killed you if they thought for a moment I wasn't dead" he said simply. "I had to find each and every one of them and make sure they were put behind bars just to be safe."

"And?"

"And I found them all" Sherlock said. "And they are all put away as of four months ago"

"four-"

"I didn't approach you for those four months because I'd heard whispers" Sherlock said looking down at the sausage patty on his plate. "Whispers, that there was a student of Moriarty who was still on the loose. I just confirmed his death certificate two days ago"

"Sherlock-"

"I am sorry for any pain I've caused you John" he said. "But it couldn't be avoided. They needed to think I was dead, and your performance was key; without it the whole thing would have fallen apart" it was quiet again until Hanna took a bite of her toast and their gazes' shifted to her. John sighed looking down at his plate and beginning to eat as well but Sherlock continued to stare at the blind girl beside him.

"John" he said still looking at her. "Who is this?"

John looked up and rolled his eyes. "Sherlock this is Hanna, my new flat mate."

"New… flat… mate?" Sherlock asked slowly.

"Yes" John said picking up his fork and starting in on the sausage. "Come on Sherlock, I needed a flat mate. I can't afford this place on my own"

"I was informed that you'd had a series of flat mates but none of them worked out" Sherlock said still looking at her as she finished her toast.

"Because none of them were you" John said looking up at the other man.

"She's not me either."

"I like to think of her as the kinder, blind, woman version of you" John said. Nodding towards Sherlock's plate he added, "And she's a great cook, eat." Sherlock hesitated a moment before picking up his knife and fork to cut off a small bite of sausage.

Hanna stood up as he ate it, going to the cupboard and pulling out three glasses. She went to the fridge and grabbed the orange juice to fill them before putting the juice away. She sat back down with the glasses in hand; she pushed them towards the two men. John said thank you in a small voice while Sherlock continued to pick at his food.

"Is it not good?" Hanna asked him suddenly.

"Of course it's good" John said. "He's just being a bratty child, think nothing of it"

"Sherlock?" she asked in a small voice. "Is it ok?"

"Yes" he said standing up. "I am just preoccupied with the living arrangements" John's head snapped up.

"Living arrangements?" he asked threw narrow eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Well it's going to be a little cramped but I think we can manage" Sherlock said turning towards then. "Now Hanna, you lived on your own."

"Yes" she said, not bothering to ask how he knew that.

"You owned a couch."

"Yes."

"Bring it here tonight."

"but-"

"No buts" Sherlock stopped her. "It's the only way this will work." Then he turned around and walked into the hall.

"What will work? Sherlock!" John shouted after him but it was too late, Sherlock Holmes had left the building and he let out a huff of frustration.

"Do you think we should have mentioned my cats were coming today?" Hanna asked tilting her head to the side and John groaned.


	13. Green

As it turned out, Hanna owned three cats. John didn't know that when he agreed to let them into the flat but the moment Hanna's older brother brought them in their soft cries echoed through the apartment and Hanna's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "My babies!" She smiled before sitting on the ground in front of the crates. When the doors opened the cats went to her immediately and she hugged and pet them; the biggest grin stretched across her face. It was the happiest he'd seen her in the last couple days. He couldn't take that from her, the cats had to stay.

"Yeah, they really missed you," Her brother laughed as he put the crates against the wall under the coats. "Wouldn't hardly eat." The man shared many of the same features as Molly in the nose and jaw line. The hair was the most similar in the color and length; his was tied back in a back in a pony tail right now. He was taller than either of the girls however, seeming to stand at about 5'8 as compared to Hanna's height of 5'0.

"I noticed they got skinny," she frowned, picking up the smallest one. It was a dark brown tabby with white paws and a heart shape spot between its eyes. "Oh my poor Bab's" she whispered into its fur as she stood up and carried him into her room.

"She really loves them" John noted as they watched her walk away with the other cats on her heals.

"They are her babies" he chuckled turning to face him. "I'm Mark."

"Yes I know" John said shaking his hand. "The older brother, it's like every time I turn around there is another Hooper running about the place"

"There are only the three of us," Hanna said coming back into the room with a different cat in her arms. This one was an array of different grey shades in stripes along its lean body. "Molly, Mark, and then me." she smiled handing the cat to her brother. "I'm the baby."

"I call her the trouble maker," Mark teased and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Well Mark since you're here do you mind doing me a favor?" John asked.

"Good idea John!" Hanna beamed turning to her brother. "Can you help John get my couch out of storage and bring it in?"

"The couch?" Mark asked. "Why?"

"Not sure yet," Hanna said turning around to walk back into her room. "I'm smart, but not that smart. I'm still working on it"

"What?"

"My old flat mate is moving back in" John said. "He's… brilliant, unfortunately. He said that a couch was the only way to make it work and then ran off to God knows where before explaining it further."

"He sounds like a prick"

"He is!" Hanna called from the back room. "He wouldn't eat the sausage I made for him! Talk about rude!"

"Sherlock can be a pain in the ass," John reasoned. "But he's also a great man, one of the best I know."

"If you say so," Mark shrugged. "He must be pretty smart for Hanna to be struggling to keep up. She's smart, my sister."

"I know" John laughed. "I'm not sure how well I'm going to fair between the two of them"

"Hey guys!" Hanna called leaning out of her door to look at them. "The couch needs to be here before Sherlock gets back, which means you need to get going" she tossed them a key and Mark caught it easily.

"You'll be ok by yourself?" Mark asked as John got his coat.

"I'll be fine!" Hanna grinned. "I'm not alone, I have my cats!" Mark shrugged and pulled on his coat before walking out the door with John. Outside he started down the street and John walked after him confused.

"We aren't taking a cab?" He asked jogging to catch up with the man.

"No way" he laughed pulling out a set of car keys. "See while my sisters both have an affinity for the city, I prefer the calm comforts of the country. And in the country you can't walk everywhere or catch a cab, or the tube so I have a car- well, car isn't really the correct term for it" John paused a moment, still confused, before Mark turned and patted his hand on a large pickup truck.

"Oh my god," John breathed looking at it. "That is a truck."

"Yeah" Mark grinned something similar to the one previously worn by his sister when she was surrounded by her cats. This truck was Marks baby. The ride to the storage unit was quiet, neither man thinking much of the silence between them until they arrived at the place. Grabbing the couch was fairly easy and thanks to the oversized truck bed, tying it down only required a couple bungee cords.

"That's a lovely couch," John said as they got back in the cab of the truck. "I hope it'll be ok out there."

"Hanna won't care," Mark rolled his eyes as he started the engine. "She hates that thing"

"Really?" John asked. "Why's that?"

"It's the couch she bought with her ex," Mark said with a heavy sigh. "She's been trying to get rid of it but no one will take it."

"Why's that?" John asked.

"People say it's cursed," Mark shrugged. "It's beautiful, like you said but every time someone took it, bad things would happen in their home and they would bring it back."

"Why not junk it then?" he asked. "Why is she holding onto it?"

"I don't know" Mark shrugged again. "Hanna… she used to be real secretive about her life. Me and Molly didn't know hardly anything about her; hell we barely knew she was dating that boy. Didn't really find out till he was gone and Hanna was blind."

"Wait, what?" John asked frowning.

"You didn't know?" he asked raising an eyebrow. "Her ex is the reason she's blind. He poisoned her to stop her from looking at other men. After that Hanna was placed in protective custody and he was nowhere to be found. Hanna lost her job, and became a hermit with those cats of hers."

"Did they ever catch the guy?"

"Nope, fate took care of him," Mark said with a frightening expression on his face. "Hit by a bus, dead on impact."

"Wow."

"He's lucky that bus hit him," Mark said with an eerily calm voice. "Because if it hadn't, I would have found him and death? That would be a mercy." John looked at the man, the anger clear on his face and he couldn't blame him. He could only imagine how hard that must have been on their family.

"Your sister is very strong"

"Don't I know it," he chuckled, turning to look at John. "Do you know what she did when she was told she was going blind and there was no way to reverse it?" John shook his head. "She painted the living room in the flat they shared. Apparently they'd been fighting about that for months, she wanted green and he was demanding it stay white. The last thing she saw… was those walls painted a dark, forest green."


	14. Incomplete Lullaby

Hanna was sitting in her chair with a cup of tea when Sherlock got back to the flat. He noticed something was off almost immediately but couldn't place it. "Since when do you lot own cats?" Lestrade asked bending down to pick up the small creature that was rubbing itself against Sherlock's leg.

"Cats?" Sherlock frowned.

"They are mine," Hanna beamed from her seat. "John said that it was ok, and Mrs. Hudson signed off on it. But I guess that was before you were moving back in, I suppose I could go live with Molly, although she hates cats…"

"Don't be absurd, you are staying here," Sherlock said waving off her idea. "Why do you have cats?"

"Because The Monster is allergic," she said standing up and retrieving the wiggling crying creature from Lestrade's arms. The animal calmed down the moment it was in her arms and she cooed softly into its neck as she walked away.

"The Monster?" Lestrade asked raising an eyebrow.

"It's nothing of your concern," Sherlock muttered eyeing a second animal that had made itself at home on John's chair. "Is the couch here yet?"

"Does it look like it's here?" She called from the kitchen as she began to put the clean dishes away. "John and Mark went to get it a half an hour ago. They can't be much longer."

"Mark?" Lestrade frowned.

"Her older brother," Sherlock sighed taking off his coat and hanging on the hook next to Hanna's.

"How on earth do you know that?" She asked walking to the living room. "I've never said anything and Molly isn't one for talking about family unless it's important. How could you possible know?"

Sherlock smirked, "your cats are very important to you, they keep away the monster so why wouldn't they be? Too important to let a mere acquaintances take care of them while you moved so that leaves close friends and family. Molly didn't have them because I was living with her while I was supposed to be dead. So that would bring us to friends but you don't have friends if you did I'd imagine John would have had you invite them over to the gathering last night but there was no one there I didn't know. So not a friend, but who is left? You just said the name Mark, with the sort of ease of someone who knows him very well. Like you said Molly isn't one for talking about family, I didn't even know the two of you were related until I asked Lestrade about you on the cab ride over here. So if you are her sister its reasonable to think that there is another Hooper that I didn't know about."

"How did you know he was her older brother?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock shrugged.

"Let's just say I know a youngest child when I see one."

"That's brilliant," Hanna smiled at him.

"I know," he smirked. "John has told me."

She chuckled as she turned back to the dishes. "And he wonders why people think you're a couple. Lestrade, are you staying for dinner? We're ordering Chinese."

"Not tonight," he said, surprised at the offer from the blind girl. "I'm only staying for a couple of hours and then going home. Like most people I can only take so much of this one," he gestured to Sherlock who rolled his eyes.

"Damn, I was gonna use your card to pay," she shrugged. "Oh well, next time," Sherlock snickered and Lestrade shot him a glare.

"Hanna would you actually mind assisting us?" He asked putting his hands in his pockets. "Between the three of us we should be able to get this settled relatively quickly. God knows it's gone on for far too long as it is."

"What are you talking about?" She asked closing the now empty dishwasher and walking back into the living room.

"Jack Jr." Lestrade said. "That's what the press has taken to calling this guy. Jack –"

"-the Rippers Son," she finished his sentence. "The man who kills the party girls."

"Like his predecessor killed prostitutes, this man kills girls who are looking for sex," Sherlock said. "But not just that, Jr. has a type. Every girl he has killed was blonde with blue eyes, between the ages of nineteen and twenty-two. He is killing someone in particular, or at least their embodiment."

"He's choosing people to fill a role," Lestrade nodded. "Like you said Hanna."

"Lot of good it did you the first time around," She muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

"But who is he killing?" Sherlock pondered, walking over to the window. He noticed that the table that had been there before was replaced with a beautiful piano. "When did we get a piano?"

"I bought it Monday from a couple up the street," Hanna shrugged. "I like to play and they said they would move it for me. They brought it in shortly after you left this morning."

"Right, anyway…" he trailed off. Sitting down he let his fingers slide across the keys before beginning a soft melody. "Who is he killing? His mother? Wife? Sister?"

"He uses a knife on these women," Lestrade offered. "That is a personal attack, she meant something to him." Hanna said nothing, her head bent towards the ground as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her arms wrapped around herself almost like she was cold.

"Serial killers are typically loners," Sherlock said. "If he had a sibling it's likely they weren't close. It's also unlikely a sister would be the object of his fixation."

"That song," Hanna spoke up suddenly.

"A Lullaby," he said without pausing in his playing.

"I know it."

"I gathered."

She walked over to him and sat beside him on the piano bench. She continued to rock back and forth as he continued to play. Her eyes closed as she swayed with the music, her lips parted and she started to sing, "Like a fleeting thought, like a double life, like a gentle feel of a warming taste. Like a passive breath, like a cooling blow, when you stopped and held me close." Sherlock glanced at her as he played, something like the ghost of a smiled appearing on his lips.

"Inside I nearly froze." She sang, her voice flowing with more strength as the music carried her away. "Your touch is almost healing, you left me feeling. Tired, I could not close my eyes. On fire, but frozen inside. To run or to hide." John and Mark walked into the room and quietly stood beside Lestrade as they watched the odd pair at the piano. Mark smiled proudly at his little sister, she was singing again; it's about time.

She took a breath, a smile on her face as the song came to an end. "Speechless, my words would not melt. Whispered, I wanted to shout. Without you I felt, like a setting sun, like a lost goodbye. Like an incomplete lullaby." Sherlock finished the song and Hanna nodded softly before standing up.

"That was amazing" John said speaking up for the first time and Sherlock spun around.

"John, I didn't know you were home" he said straightening his shirt. "Where is the couch?"

"Out in the truck" the other man, he assumed to be Mark, said. "Didn't want to bring it in here until we knew where it was going"

"In Hanna's' room" Sherlock said like it was obvious.

"What?" John demanded at the same time Mark said. "Oh hell no"

"Sherlock" Lestrade spoke up. "What is the couch for?"

"For me to sleep on of course" he raised an eyebrow. "It's the only way for this to work. The living room has no room for a couch; John's room is also too small. Hanna's room is the only one with enough space."

"There is no way I'm allowing you to sleep in my-"

Hanna interrupted her brother, "its ok guys, he's right. My room is the only one with enough space for two people."

"So we'll switch room" John said. "You don't need to stay in there Hanna."

"John its fine" she giggled. "Unless you want to because you REALLY missed your best friend. If that's the case, I completely understand and support the two of you."

"NO!" John shouted as Sherlock frowned in confusion and asked, "What?"

"Well then I don't see why it's a problem" she smirked. "We're both adults. I'm sure we can handle ourselves, can't we Sherlock?"

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Of course"

"Ok then" she turned back to the other three. "Go get the couch and put it in my room along the wall opposite the closet. Greg, can you help me gather my cats and put them in their crates so that they aren't in the way?"

"Sure" Lestrade shrugged as he moved to reach for the grey cat on John's chair. Hanna bent down to pick up the one that was crying softly as it circled Sherlock's feet.

When she stood up she smiled at Sherlock, her unfocused eyes drifting over his face. "I love that song"

He nodded slightly before turning away towards the window. She chuckled and walked over to Lestrade, who was struggling to convince the cat to enter the small cage. Hanna put both cats in the crates while Lestrade located the last animal and brought it to her. By this time Mark and John had returned with the couch. They struggled to get it into the living area and then maneuvered it around, through the kitchen to Hanna's room. All while Sherlock stood back watched with disinterest in the things happening around him.

Shortly after that Lestrade left the rest ordered Dinner. Molly dropped by with a box of things she thought Sherlock might need if he was staying at Bakers Street that night including pajamas, a change of clothes for tomorrow and his violin. Her and Mark left after dinner, Hanna hugged her family goodbye.

When everyone was gone Hanna turned back towards the two men standing near the chairs. "I think it's time for bed" she said holding out her hand. "Sherlock?"

"You know your way around" he said brushing past her to gather his box. "I'll be in the room preparing my bed." John watched Sherlock stride out of the room and shook his head in disapproval.

"Hanna? Do you need help getting to your room?" he asked putting a friendly hand on her shoulder.

"You guys moved things to get the couch in there" she said softly. "I'm not sure of where everything has been put…"

"So that's a yes" he smirked taking hold of her small hand and begging to guide her towards her room. "You are a beautiful singer"

She chuckled, "thank you."

"You were really into the song" he noted.

"Music… it's always been a passion of mine. The way songs, melodies, a beat, or a simple string of words can capture the essence of human thoughts and feelings…" she trailed off as they got to the door. "It's the closest I've come to, what I can only describe as…Magic."

"Are you two done blabbering?" Sherlock asked opening the door to glare at the both of them.

John rolled his eyes, "Yes Sherlock, we're done"

"Good" he turned, disappearing into the dark.

John gritted his teeth. "Goodnight Hanna. Have fun dealing with him"

She laughed as Sherlock called from inside the room. "I heard that! And believe it or not, I understand some sarcasm!"

"Goodnight John" she said still giggling. "And thank you"

"Just let me know if you want to switch rooms" he said.

"That won't be necessary" Sherlock said reappearing in the door way. "From the state of this room, we'll be able to coexist famously. Wont we Hanna?"

She rolled her eyes, "we'll find out. Goodnight John" she said again before entering the room, and closing the door behind her.

* * *

**Hey guys, just a little slice of life for you guys :)**

**Just saying that the song is real, and brilliant:**  
**Lisa Mitchell - Incomplete Lullaby**

**Have a listen, I love it.**

**Ttyl**  
**-Katy**


	15. The True Nature of Hanna Hooper

For weeks nothing happened. John, Sherlock and Hanna fell into a pattern as they became accustom to the new arrangement. Hanna woke up in the morning and made breakfast. John and Sherlock would roll out of bed about a half an hour later to join her for the meal. John would gobble it down while Sherlock pushed it around the plate. After that John would go to work and Sherlock would catch a ride with him to Bart's. Hanna would spend the day cleaning the house, doing the dishes, dusting, cleaning the litter boxes until Mrs. Hudson would come up at two. They would have a cup of tea and chat until the boys came home. The three would then talk, have dinner and eventually retire for the night. On occasion Molly, or Lestrade would join them for Dinner but those time were few and far between. If one didn't look too closely, it almost appeared that there was peace on Baker Street.

What surprised John the most about those weeks was the lack of new holes put into the wall. There were no new cases; people still didn't trust Sherlock completely. Lestrade was forced to mark the case of Jack Jr. as unsolved. There were no new leads and it appeared as if he'd disappeared; leaving his kill count at twelve dead women. Something about that case bothered Molly however and she couldn't let go. She kept small samples from each of the bodies to investigate on her own in the future.

But the peace was short lived when Hanna started disappearing. It was always late at night, when she thought Sherlock to be asleep. She would sneak out of the house and be gone for a few hours before returning and going to bed. Sherlock brought up the matter to John when they were in the cab, on the way to Bart's, one morning. He chuckled and told him not to worry but Sherlock couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

So he followed her.

One night, after this had been going on for a few weeks now, Sherlock laid awake with his back to the room. He heard her sit up and walk calmly to the closet. She shuffled threw it quickly before pulling something out and walking out of the room. He stayed still, and waited till he heard the front door close. Throwing off his blanket he straightened his shirt and reached for his coat jacket. He got outside just as she got into a cab and they started to drive away. An elderly woman had stopped the next cab and was climbing in when Sherlock pulled her back and closed the door.

"Follow that cab," he instructed the driver who raised an eyebrow. "Do it and I'll pay you double the cab fee."

Fifteen minutes later Sherlock climbed out of the cab and looked around. Why would Hanna be at a night club, he ponded as he spotted her talking to one of the bouncers. They chatted for a few moments, almost as if they were friends before he lifted the velvet rope to allow her to enter. A groan of protest could be heard from the line of young people waiting to get in. Sherlock waited until she was in the building before walking up to the bouncer.

"HI! Hello, I'm late." He said jogging up to the overly muscled individual.

"Late for what?" The man asked raising an eyebrow.

"Hanna, my friend, she told me to meet her here tonight. You haven't seen her by chance?" He asked looking around. "She's short, blond hair, blue eyes, she's also blind."

"Oh you mean Miss Hooper," he nodded relaxing. "You must be her plus one, Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes that's me," his smiled faltered. How did she know he would be coming?

"Just give me the password and I can let you in," the guy shrugged.

"Password?"

"Miss Hooper insisted on it," he shrugged with a fond chuckle. "And I thought she wouldn't get any stranger but then tonight she says she's bringing someone and that they need to give me the correct password to enter."

"She never told me anything about a password," Sherlock said still keeping up the ruse.

"Lucky for you, she left a clue," he said. Of course she did.

"And it is?"

"Twice in you, twice in me, twice in John Watson, and once in him," the man chuckled shaking his head. "You have fun with that little riddle. Let me know when you figure it-"

"O," Sherlock stopped him. "The answer is O."

The bouncer blinked, looking at him. "Oh, I see you're just like her."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "that's not important; I got the answer right now let me in."

The bouncer frowned, raising an eyebrow. "Not JUST like her I guess" he said lifting the velvet rope to let Sherlock in. Inside the room was pack with young people dancing, to the pop song that blasted loudly around them. Sherlock looked around, but if Hanna was here she was amongst a sea of other blond girls.

"Mr. Holmes?" A voice questioned and he turned to see a woman with a tray standing behind him. She was of average height with curly red hair pulled back by a half pony. She had green eyes and an array of freckles that scattered across her face. Her apron was wrinkled and stained with alcohol, cat fur was scattered about it suggesting an animal owner. But there were scratches on her arms so perhaps it belonged to her new fiancé who gave her the shiny new diamond ring on her finger. Not a real diamond, he either had money troubles or that he wasn't really that committed to her, but either way Sherlock could tell from the light in her eyes and the smile on her face that she believed it to be genuine.

"Miss Hooper is this way," the woman smiled turning to lead him through the crowd of people and up a flight of stairs to a balcony that hung out over the street. "I'll leave you to it," she nodded out into the cool night air before turning to walk back down the stairs. He turned to look across the deserted platform, well deserted wasn't really the right word since there was someone there.

She was standing across from him. Leaning against the railing, her head tipped down as if to watch the people down below. She was wearing a short, pale purple dress that clung to her like a second skin. He'd never seen that dress before, and because they shared a room, and the only closet, he was perplexed as to where she hid it. "How did you know I would follow you?" He asked slipping his hands into his pockets.

"The same way I know you've been watching me leave these last couple weeks," she chuckled, tipping her head up towards the sky. "I listen and you provide me with so MUCH to hear."

"But I'm quiet," he frowned walking over to where she was. "What exactly do you hear?"

She laughed turning to face him. "That, my dear Sherlock, would be giving away my secrets."

"Oh, you're a magician now?" he asked with a smirk.

"Well I have pulled the disappearing act on you quite a few times now haven't I?" she mused. "Did you enjoy my riddle?"

He scoffed, "child's play."

"Maybe to you or I," she reasoned. "But to the everyday individual it would be difficult, especially since you and Lestrade are the only ones with the finale piece of the puzzle."

"The Monster."

"Only one O," She said shifting as she turned to face the London night. "Do you know how powerful the O is?"

"What do you mean?"

"Hope," she said tilting her head to the side. "Power, wonder… love, and joy. Our strongest words all have an O. It is the letter we rule our lives by."

"How… observant of you" he smirked.

She chuckled, "thank you." He glanced at her. Her hair was loosed, lining her heart shaped face. He noticed the way her freckles appeared to mirror the stars above them as they sprawled across the bridge of her nose and onto her high cheek bones. Her smooth skin like porcelain in the moon light as his eyes drifted from her face down her body to the light purple material of her dress.

"Hanna, why are you here?" He asked studying her light blue eyes cast up at the sky; unfocused and unseeing as they drifted over the sea of stars.

She smiled softly, the glittered lips gloss on her pink lips shining in the light. "Before… The Monster… I was what some call a social butterfly. I went to all the parties and clubs whenever I could and I would dance into the morning hours. I suppose that how all this started, I met him at a club on my nineteenth birthday and… he took my breath away. He was charming, handsome and so brilliant; a mind that I struggled to keep up with. My past relationships all failed because at the end of the day, I was forced to dumb down my understanding of the world but not with him. With him I spoke my mind and he UNDERSTOOD me. For a few months… it was heaven.

"But then his true nature came through." She sighed, her head turned down towards her hands. "He became, possessive, angry and hateful. I was locked away in the basement of our flat for weeks at a time. He drove me to and from work and if I even suggested going out with friends I would be beat bloody."

"How long did this go on for?" He asked struggling to keep his voice steady.

"Three years," she shook her head. "And then I started looking for a way out, looking for anyone strong enough to keep him away from me. But he saw my glances, thought I was looking for a new man to replace him…so he stopped me looking.

"He blinded you"

"I noticed my vision was failing when I went to work one day," she whispered now. "I came into work and someone said something about what a beautiful day it was outside. I was confused; it looked gray and dreadful to me, foggy even. I went to the optometrist that night and he confirmed, I was going blind.

"I was convinced he did it" she hissed in anger now. "During work I snuck away to Scotland Yard and reported the crim. A young inspector took down my complaint but did nothing; convinced that it was the deranged babbling of a woman unhappy in her relationship. It took proof from my sister, who ran a few tests, to convince him what I was saying was truth but by then it was too late. There was no way to reverse it and The Monster had disappeared. Because Lestrade refused to do anything, including call the young consultant that I'd heard whispers about."

"Me?"

"You'd just begun your work at Scotland Yard" she said. "When I was there the first time I heard Donavan talking about you to someone. I was… intrigued. I had hoped that if Lestrade brought you onto my case you could have discovered the poison and given me the antidote before I lost my sight.

She shook her head, "so I guess what I'm getting at is… I'm here because I need to be. I can't let him continue to control my life. I hid for five years in my house with my cats as protection. Now I'm done hiding."

* * *

**Sorry this chapter took so long, I had trouble deciding if I should post the cute fluffy piece I thought of or continue on with the story. The fluffy piece may be posted as a bonus one shot when I finish this story… I'm not sure yet.**

**Leave me a review telling me what you think now that you know the whole story of Hanna's relationship with The Monster. Also, should do you guys want me to give him a name? Or should I just keep him as The Monster? Note: if I do give him a name, it'll probably only be mentioned twice.**

**Ttfn,**

**-Katy**


	16. DC

The second letter arrived two weeks later. Mrs. Hudson brought in the mail and handed it to John before walking into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Hanna and Sherlock had gone to bug Lestrade about a new case since Hanna was getting bored staying home all day.

John wondered why it was Hanna getting bored and not Sherlock. There had been no cases in a month and a half but his eccentric flat mate was perfectly content at the normalcy of things. He often wondered what had changed him so completely but then he would see them together.

Sherlock and Hanna, discussing a book he's never even heard of or Sherlock making Hanna's tea the exact way she likes it. They would carry on talking about life, the universe and everything in between for hours on end and John just knew. It was Hanna who was changing him just by being there. John wasn't even sure if she was aware of it.

"Would you like a cup?" Mrs. Hudson asked as the kettle went off.

"Yes please," John said sifting through the bills before coming across something for Hanna. Standing up and retrieving the envelope from the table beside her chair he frowned. They were almost identical; the only difference was that the new envelope was thicker. He had more to say apparently.

"John?" Mrs. Hudson asked setting his tea on his table. "Is everything ok?"

"Do you remember when Hanna got this letter?" he asked holding up the old one for her to see.

"From the old boyfriend?" She inquired. "I remember she looked like she saw a ghost."

"Yeah I know," his eyes narrowed at the new letter. "Well he apparently didn't take no for an answer, here's another one… I have half a mind to throw it away."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head, "poor dear, two bad relationships under her belt… I hope her next romance goes better." John didn't pay much attention to her words, his mind going back to Mark and what he told him about Hanna previous boyfriend; the man who blinded her. How she was able to get past that and date again was a mystery to him.

A few minutes later Sherlock and Hanna returned and John stood to greet them. "Hey so how did it go? Are we on a case?"

"Lestrade says he'll call us first thing," Hanna said taking off her jacket and hanging it up. "But that won't happen for who knows how long. Till then I am forced to sit at home everyday, how boring!" John chuckled, sitting in his chair as Mrs. Hudson brought in two cups of tea for Sherlock and Hanna.

"Something funny, John?" Sherlock asked walking over to the window where the piano and his Violin sat.

"Nothing," John shook his head, a smirk on his lips. "Hanna just reminded of a certain eccentric man I once knew who put holes in the wall with a gun when he got bored."

"A gun?" Hanna asked taking her seat and fixing her tea. "Really?"

"I was bored," Sherlock shrugged, turning to look outside.

"So you shot a wall?" she demanded turning towards him in her chair. "When I'm bored I start dressing Babs as a pretty princess-"

"Babs?" Mrs. Hudson asked John quietly.

"The brown tabby."

"Oh."

"-but I defiantly don't shoot anything," Hanna continued.

Sherlock turned towards her slowly, his eyebrow raised. "You…dress up your cat… as a princess?"

"Babs is the prettiest princess of them all."

John never got a chance to talk to her about the letter. She went to bed shortly after dinner and when he looked down, both letters were gone. "Um…Sherlock?" he asked the man playing the violin over by the window. Sherlock didn't say anything but continued to stare absently out the window as he played a tune that John faintly recognized.

"Sherlock," John said again as he glanced around the table to see if they'd dropped to the floor. Still Sherlock said nothing, to wrapped up in his own thoughts to pay any mind to his best friend. After a few more failed attempts at getting his flat mate's attention john went to bed, resolving to ask him about it in the morning.

Once John was gone and the flat was quiet Sherlock set aside his violin. He lifted piano cover and retrieved the smaller of the two envelops that he twirled in his fingers. He remembered back to that day, the second time he met Hanna, when she sat in her chair with this letter in her hands. She was so scared of something but how did this envelope tie into anything?

He let out an annoyed breath as he tried to think back to the things he'd deduced about her. There wasn't much and that frustrated him. How was he able to see through Molly so easily when her little sister was nothing but smoked covered mirrors? He supposed that her being blind was a reason, her reactions, her tells were different from anyone he'd come across. The only one he could compare her to was the Adler woman but that made him extremely uncomfortable.

Hanna and Irene were nothing alike; he was a fool to even think that. Irene was… dark, wielding the seductive nature of evil like a sword she held to his throat and draped in a veil of mystery. Hanna was… light; covered in innocence like it was a cloak wrapped around her and shrouded in the thickest fog of mystery. If anyone asked him who was the bigger mystery he would without hesitation say it was Hanna.

Something about the letter bothered him, the envelope wasn't right. It was too formal, expensive for a love letter from an EX as she claimed it to be. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the envelope where the flap was glued down, neatly with little water damage on the paper itself. And there was something in the writing, the way the ink flowed across the front that suggested an expensive pen; a fountain pen perhaps? No, this was most certainly not from an old boyfriend.

Walking over to the bookshelf he pulled out a card he got for his last birthday and compared the writing on the two envelopes. They were a match and he let out a defeated sigh as the cloak of innocence he once portrayed on Hanna was stained black.

The writing was a match for Anthea; the letter was from Mycroft.

* * *

**Sorry it's been a while but I have a lot going on right now with a new job and my parents are being difficult so my updates may come down to once a week instead of how often they had been :/**

**Anyway, as always leave me a review on what you think! I like hearing your thoughts!**

**ttyl**

**-Katy**


	17. What?

John sat in his chair typing away while Sherlock sat in the kitchen working on an experiment. Hanna sat across from the blond man, her fingers carefully running over the textured pages of her favorite book. "What are you working on," she asked, setting her book on the table.

"I'm writing the case of Jack Jr." John said glancing up at her. "What little we have to go on at least."

She frowned, "why?"

John shrugged, "it's been a few months since anything new has happened concerning him… I just want people to know that this monster is still out there, somewhere."

"What was that?" Sherlock asked suddenly, looking up from his microscope to lock eyes with his best friend. "What did you say?"

"I'm writing the case of Jack Jr.-"

"Not that the other thing," Sherlock said walking around to face John. "You said that you just want…."

"….people to know that this monster is still out there," John frowned at his friend who had a look of pure astonishment painted across his face. "Sherlock-" he started to question but was cut off by the sound of the piano as Hanna sat there playing a soft, familiar melody.

Sherlock turned to look at the blind girl playing so beautifully, "the Monster," he said just loud enough that John heard him and Hanna stopped playing.

"The monster?" John asked looking between the two, neither answered him. Sherlock walked forward, his hands behind his back as he watched the girl at the piano.

"Well?"

"Jack Jr…." she trailed off as her head turned up to stare blankly out the window. "And… the Monster-"

"Are the same person," Sherlock said calmly, his body stiff as he glanced from Hanna to John. "You've known all along."

She hesitated, "…yes." Sherlock straitened his back and turned away from her. He said nothing as he got his coat and walked out the door, leaving John alone with Hanna who was staring blankly ahead of her. He tried to talk to her, get her to explain what just happened but she wouldn't. She just sat there with her fingers on the keys like she was preparing to play but couldn't decide on a song. After an hour of silence she stood up and walked into her room. She walked past John and Molly, who John had called when it became apparent that Hanna wouldn't talk to him.

"I've never seen her like this," John said when the door closed. "And Sherlock… he acted like he was calm, like this was any other deduction but…" He shook his head and sighed.

Molly was still staring at the door her sister had just disappeared through as she said, "I don't know about Sherlock, but I've only seen Hanna like this once before."

"When?"

"Seven years ago," Molly said tearing her eyes away from the door to look at John. "It was five months after her nineteenth birthday. She'd just moved into a new flat and I later found out that she was living with her boyfriend. But she came over to my house that day and… she was just like this, wouldn't talk, staring at a wall for… hours. I tried to ask her what was wrong but it was like talking to wall and then when she left I saw it."

"Saw what?" John almost growled as he sensed where this was going.

"Her sleeve slipped up her arm and she was… covered in bruises," she hissed out. "I didn't know what had happened, if someone did it to her or if she had fallen down the stairs or… anything. But I knew something was terribly wrong.

"Hanna is strong, John," Molly said shaking her head. "For her to break like this is not normal."

John sighed looking back at the door, "a woman who's been beaten."

"No," Molly said and he raised an eyebrow. "Not beaten… a woman with a broken heart."

* * *

John found Sherlock in Bart's morgue, eyes glued to a microscope. John said nothing as he stepped into the room and waited near the end of the counter. When Sherlock didn't look up John began to talk.

"You've been away from the flat for two days now," he said, waiting for a response from his friend who only turned to page through one of many files in a pile behind him. "Hanna hasn't said a word to anyone for two days. She even forgot to feed her cats this morning." Sherlock reached for another file. "You could pretend to be concerned with our flat mate."

"What good would that do?" he asked peering up from the pages at John.

"I don't know," John sighed. "Maybe help you through whatever rift that's been torn between you and her."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock said while reaching for yet another file, but John grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Sherlock," he said with a serious look. "Do not lie to me. Whatever the two of you were talking about the other day… it has caused the two of you a great deal of pain."

"You're delusional," Sherlock said ripping his hand away from his friend as he spun around to look at the microscope again.

"No Sherlock, I'm not," John said as he ripped the power cord from the wall, forcing Sherlock to face him. "You are. Now tell me what is going on."

"Well if you really must know, Hanna's blindness was no accident," Sherlock began.

"Yes I know," John said crossing his arms over his chest. "Her brother told me that her ex did it."

"oh good, so you're caught up," Sherlock said reaching for the cord but John moved it out of his reach. He waved for him to continue. Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh, "The man who blinded her abused Hanna in their three year relationship. She became so terrified of him that she would only refer to him as The Monster. After he disappeared she bought three cats to protect her because he was allergic to them and that protected her for a while but recently she came into contact with him again, before she brought her cats to the flat. Meanwhile Lestrade and I struggled to find the man known as Jack JR. a man who killed girls between the ages of nineteen and twenty-two, with blond hair and blue eyes, -who were party girls, social butterflies. Sound familiar at all?"

"Are you saying that the women he killed were all-"

"They were all representations of Hanna Hooper!" Sherlock growled as he picked up a pile of photos and slammed them down on the table so that they spread out for John to see. On top sat a picture of Hanna but beyond her was a sea of girls with similar features.

"But why are you so mad Sherlock?" John frowned, turning to his friend.

"Because she knew the answer John!" Sherlock growled. "She knew this man's name and refused to tell me- or Lestrade! She chose to protect him John... for all we know she aided in killing these girls."

John shook his head in disbelief, "You don't mean that."

"I do."

"We KNOW Hanna, Sherlock. We've talked to her-"

"For all we know everything she's told us was a!" Sherlock shouted. "We can't take anything she says as truth anymore!"

John shook his head again, this time in defiance. "No Sherlock, she didn't lie to us-"

"She didn't tell us the truth."

"She was scared!" John defended the girl. "You said so yourself, she is so afraid of this guy that she won't even say his NAME. And if she did tell someone, who would believe her? A dead man is the one killing these girls? Come on-"

"What was that?" Sherlock demanded spinning around. "What did you say?"

"He's dead Sherlock," John explained. "Or is supposed to be… he was hit by a bus for God's sake"

"A bus?" Sherlock questioned his friend, "Are you sure?"

"That's what Mark told me," John sighed. "And he was damn positive that the man was dead." Sherlock sat down. "Do you see yet Sherlock? While Hanna is not sin free in this mess by any means, she was afraid and fear is a powerful motivator." Sherlock was silent before he ran his long fingers over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

John chuckled softly, "You know… I haven't seen you this emotional over something since… well, since Irene." Sherlock said nothing. "You don't…. you don't care for Hanna, by any chance?"

"What? No! Of course not" Sherlock shook his head and rolled his eyes while turning back to the files.

"Good because I was going to ask her out for drinks tomorrow, maybe a movie depending how things go," John said. "If things go well enough I may have to ask you to leave the apartment for an hour-" He was cut off by Sherlock grabbing hold of his shirt collar and pinning him against the wall.

"You will do nothing of the sort," Sherlock growled. "Hanna-" he stopped suddenly seeing Johns knowing grin. "Oh, I see." He let go of the other man. "You tricked me."

"It was surprisingly easy," John said straightening his shirt out. "You're emotions clouded your normally clear mind… why is that Sherlock?" Sherlock turned away and ran a stressed hand through his dark curls. "Could it be you care for her? Love her even?"

"Love is a chemical defect found on the losing side."

"So you've lost then." John shrugged. "Lost your war on emotions to one little blind girl-"

"Don't say it like that," He said glancing over his shoulder. "Like being blind is what defines her- she is more than that"

"Says the man who remembers my ex's as 'the doctor', 'the one with the spots', 'the one with the nose', or 'the boring teacher'," John pointed out. "I've lived with you long enough to know that if you didn't care about her, like you claim, she would be 'the little blind girl'."

* * *

**so it's still Friday... somewhere... sorry guys! i was a little unsure of this chapter and needed some assistance from my friends but here it is... at 2:00 in the morning...**

**I'm going to bed...**

**night guys!**

**-Katy**


	18. Theory from a Haunted Past

I was sitting in the chair. John left a few hours ago, muttering something about going to bash some sense into that man's head. The room around me was quite; too quiet and I couldn't take it anymore. Slowly I made my way over to the piano and lifted the cover. My fingers glided across the keys as I played. What else could it be but this song? What else could I do to tell them nothing while simultaneously telling them everything that mattered?

It had been two days since Sherlock left the flat. And in those two days The Monster has visited me four times. The first time he told me he got medication for his allergies to my cats. The second time he found Sherlock's clothes in the closet we shared. The third time I was in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal while John was sitting in his chair reading the paper. The fourth time was last night when he tied me to the bed and raped me.

Part of me wanted to lash out, to scream at John and demanded to know how he was missing what was right in front of his face. The other part of me wanted to just lie on my bed and wait for Him to kill me. He told me once that those girls were to get my attention. He was telling me that he would kill me; one day it would be my flesh that his knife cut. I knew the end game for him, I've known for a long time. I think part of me was trying to delude myself into believing otherwise but I knew. I always knew.

Through the past seven years I've asked myself once question over and over again: how did I want to die? But as I sat there at the piano, I knew that, that was the wrong question. With everything I went through, all the hell I survived, how I wanted to die didn't matter. The question I should have asked myself was: how did I want to live? And there was only one answer to that question.

He was there, with me again. He was standing in the kitchen watching me as I played and sang. I could feel his eyes on my back but I didn't flinch. I continued to play and sang with as much emotion and passion as I did before. Before I let him control me. I wouldn't let that happen anymore, I wouldn't let him hurt anyone anymore. And as my song came to a close I knew it was time, the song ended and I stood up. I grabbed a backpack, I'd placed aside earlier, my coat and walking stick.

Walking out the door I climbed into the cabby I called. "Where too ma'am?"

"The airport."

"Taking a trip?"

"Moving," I sighed. "I'm moving."

"Or really? Where too?"

"France," I forced a smile. "I'm going to stay with my cousins there until I have enough money to get myself a flat."

"Well London will be sad to see you go."

"I am a curse to London," I muttered, closing my eyes and swallowing the lump that was rising in my throat.

"Hey wasn't that the flat of the detective guy? What was his name..."

"Sherlock, his name is Sherlock."

"You lived with him?"

"Yes."

"What was that like? Living with a genius like him?"

"It was…." I trailed off. "Enlightening." Compelling and forbidden in every sense of the word. "Being around Sherlock it was almost like I could see again."

I hear him turn around to look, "huh, I didn't realize you were blind."

"Not many do," I said with a hard chuckle. "I put on a good show apparently."

"If you liked living with him so much why are you leaving?"

"Because," I rested my head against the cold glass of the window. "My past was catching up with me. I couldn't let it poison his life, I had to go."

There was a pause from the Cabby, "you seem to care about him- Sherlock."

"…And that…" I sighed, as I opened my eyes. "Is why I have to leave."

* * *

**so this one is going up early because im going away tomorrow and dont know when i'll have time to post a chapter. so you get it now!**

**the next chapter is done but i am afraid of it, you may cry... IM SORRY, IM A HORRIBLE PERSON! SOMEONE TAKE AWAY MY CHARACTERS UNTIL I LEARN TO BE NICE TO THEM! DX *hides away in shame***


	19. A Study of Puzzles

For Sherlock, there was no greater challenge than the puzzle. Finding all the little pieces and putting them together to create a picture that was coherent and elegant. He found that people were like puzzles. They gave you all the pieces to put together. However should you put it together wrong or finish it to quickly they get mad and reject you because of it. It is this reason that Sherlock spent much of his life alone.

People liked to believe that they were harder to solve than they actually were. Very few would acknowledge that he had figured them out and even fewer were remotely ok with that. John was the first person to accept completely that Sherlock knew everything about him. Even Mrs. Hudson occasionally deluded herself into thinking that she could hide something from him. But no, he solved everyone in time and when that happened he would become bored and wait for the next puzzle to come along.

"Something has happened," Sherlock said as he and John stepped out of the cabby and onto Baker Street. He looked around, something was off, he could feel it. His senses were telling him that something wasn't right but what could it be? A painful pressure on his chest caused him to slowly turn around toward the flat and look up.

Sherlock reveled in a difficult puzzle, like the Adler woman or Moriarty. They didn't just give him the pieces; they hid them forcing him to solve not one puzzle but two. Where were the pieces and how do they fit together? On both occasions he was almost too late and something terrible would have happened but the challenge was worth it. Never before had his mind been used so extensively, never has he doubted himself or his abilities like that.

He took the stairs two at a time with John right on his heels. They raced down the hall and threw open the door to reveal their living room. "Sherlock…?" John whispered not looking at the man. Sherlock didn't respond, he was busy scanning the room before them. While that pressure steadily climbed and spread across his chest. "Hanna?!"

He liked to think that everyone was solvable in one way or another. That every case was only a matter of time before he figured it out and he was bored once again. But lately two of them have evaded him. The Case of Jack Jr. the man who killed the part girls. And the Case of The Monster, the man tormenting Hanna. Now that he knew the two were one in the same he wondered why he didn't see it a long time ago. It was right there in front of his face but Sherlock didn't see it.

John ran through the room, into the back- her room Sherlock assumed as his eyes continued to scan the scene before him. "She- she's not here Sherlock" John sad running back. "Please tell me you have something- anything!" Sherlock didn't look at him. He continued to look at the room but…

"John-" he started, his voice trembling as he placed his hand over his chest where the pressure was. "I- I"

The two cases fit together like two half's of a whole, completing an elegant picture of this man's last seven years. But there was still one puzzle left to solve: Hanna Hooper. The Girl who kept Sherlock guessing. Every time he thought he figured her out she seemed to expand and show him that he had more work to do. He found that she wasn't just one puzzle she was hundreds, maybe even thousands, of them and when put together would provide the answer to The Girl.

"Sherlock? Please tell me you know what happened here," John said, his voice wrecked with worry and fear. "Please, what happened to Hanna?"

"John," Sherlock breathed, tearing his eyes away to look at his best friend. "Call Lestrade-"

"what why?" Another puzzle, one with all the pieces in place but this wasn't just any puzzle. The pieces were jagged, sharp to touch. Sherlock couldn't solve this puzzle, not without help from someone. Lestrade really was the only choice.

Sherlock ran his hands over his face, wiping away the few stray tears that were threating to fall before he glanced back around the room. The walls and floors were covered in blood nothing was left untouched by the ruby liquid. Above the chairs hung two of Hanna's cats while the third hung in the window above the piano; little nooses around their broken necks.

"because I don't know what I'm looking at"


	20. Not a Machine

John dialed the number with shaky hands and paced the hall while it rang. "John? Is there something wrong?" Lestrade asked over the speaker.

"You- you need to get here-" John chocked out between panicked breaths. "Now, Lestrade."

"What happened," he asked; John could hear movement on the other line.

"Hanna- she's gone and the flat-." He took a deep breath_.' Get through this conversation'_, he thought to himself. '_Then you can panic'_. "The flat's covered in blood and her cats are all dead, hung from the ceiling."

"I'm on my way with a few patrol cars" Lestrade said. "Don't touch anything, do you hear me? Where's Sherlock?"

"He's here with me," John said.

"Well what does he think?"

John paused a moment, looking at his flat mate who was, seated on the stairs, watching the door. "He…"

"John!"

"Nothing," John said into the phone.

He could almost feel Lestrade's shock. "What?"

"He can't deduce anything, Lestrade." John swallowed. "He's too close to this one, that's why we need you. You are our only hope right now."

Two hours later Lestrade walked into Mrs. Hudson living room where the three residents were waiting. He sat down in one of the chairs; John and Mrs. Hudson were sitting together on the couch. John was comforting the old woman but Lestrade doubted he was in any shape to do so. Sherlock stood by the window, his cold eyes locked on the busy street.

"As far as we can tell the blood isn't Hanna's," Lestrade said. "But there is a lot of it and a lot of tests we have to run to be sure."

"Well what makes you think that in the first place?" John asked.

"The cat's bodies were completely drained of blood and there were bowls in the kitchen covered in the stuff," Lestrade said. "It looks like he took his time up there. John, how long did you say you were gone?"

"Maybe two hours" John said.

"That's not enough time." Lestrade sighed sitting back in his seat. "Not to kill the cats and drain their blood, or leave the message in the window."

"Message?" Sherlock inquired his voice so low that he was barely heard.

"Yes… you didn't see it?" Sherlock didn't answer. "Well it said, and I quote-

_'Nothing will keep me from you darling,_

_Not your cats, not your protectors._

_In the end I will always have you,_

_Just as I did the night before.'"_

"Lestrade!" Donavan called, stepping into the room. "We found something in Hanna's room, blood on the floor. It looks like that's where he killed the cats and he left them there to drain and… there was something else." She nodded her head towards the hall where the inspector joined her. She spoke quickly to him in a hushed tone and he dropped his head in defeat. He nodded, running a stressed hand through his hair before returning to the living room.

"What," John asked, his voice colored with panic, enough so that Sherlock turn away from the window. "What is it?"

"In Hanna's bedroom…"

"Just spit it out Lestrade," Sherlock said his voice low and demanding as he eyed the other man.

"It seems that they found some evidence…" he hesitated again, seeing Sherlock's deadly gaze. "It appears that she was raped, sometime last night most likely-"

"That's not possible," John said as he stood up. "I was here last night, surely I would have heard…" Lestrade shook his head. "Oh god- oh god no…" Mrs. Hudson quietly cried while John turned to look at his remaining flat mate.

Sherlock's gaze had been turned to the ground. His posture was straight, arms behind his back as he lifted his chin to look back out the window. His face was blank as he watched the busy street in front of the flat but John could see the raging emotions behind those cold, desolate eyes. Sherlock Holmes wasn't a machine. No matter how hard he tried to convince anyone else otherwise, John knew. And he prayed that Hanna, wherever she was, knew that too.

* * *

so... here's this. um yeah my next chapter is probably going to be up monday instead of friday because it's evil of me and i need more time to write the chapter after that. so the next chapter will be on the 11th and then the one after that wont be up till the 22nd. sorry but it's a very important chapter and im not quite sure on how to go about it yet. don't worry i will think of something. in the mean time continue to show this story some love! tell your friends and family, review and share because the more of you there are the more excited i get about writing!

till next time!

-Katy


	21. Where?

Hanna Hooper died that day having thrown herself into the channel and drown. Her body was never recovered however there were several eye-witness accounts to the blind girl's jump. Two weeks later Molly received a letter from her now departed sister.

_Dear Molly,_

_It will have been a few weeks since my death and if I know you sister then you are angry with me. You always told me to never stop fighting and you see this as giving up. But I had to. HE was never going to stop. He would kill more girls; hurt more people like he did our family. I know my death will make him stop, not forever but long enough to be caught, I hope. _

_You must get Lestrade and Sherlock to find HIM. He cannot be allowed to continue les this will have been for nothing. Tell Lestrade that I am sorry for the way I treated him. I'm sorry I never got a chance to say this to his face and I wish I'd had the chance to get to know him as more than Inspector Incompetent._

_And tell Sherlock-_

_Take care of yourself Molly. One day we will be together again. I know you don't believe in heaven or hell, neither do I but I do believe in life beyond death. One day we'll have dinner. Tell Mark, Mum and Dad that I love them._

_Goodbye Sister._

_Love,_

_Hanna_

John watched his flat mate's eyes rake over the letter again and again. John had read it countless times himself. Each time he remembers thinking, _just once more and this time it'll say it's all a joke and she'll be home in a bit._

But it didn't and Sherlock set aside the notebook paper, the last words of their friend, before walking over to the window and picking up his violin. He began to play that familiar song that he and Hanna preformed all those months ago. John sighed and walked with Molly into the kitchen to talk allowing Sherlock to think and play and (even though he would never admit it himself) grieve for the loss of The Girl.

One week later John came home to find Mycroft in the living room while Sherlock stood in the window watching the street. John took note of the increased amount of time Sherlock spent watching Baker Street. It was rare that his eyes were anywhere else in all honesty.

"Mycroft?" he asked stepping into the room and giving the two men confused glances. "What brings you here?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "my brother called me here on this ridiculous notion that I know where the blind girl has gone-"

"Hanna," Sherlock snapped from his place in the window. "Her name is Hanna, stop calling her 'the blind girl'."

"It doesn't matter," Mycroft sighed in annoyance. "And he's right I do know where she is-"

"Where-"

"At the bottom of the channel," he said firmly, cutting off his younger brother. "She died nearly three weeks ago if I'm not mistaken."

"Liar!" Sherlock hissed spinning around to face his brother.

"Sherlock," John attempted to sooth his erratic flat mate. "Calm down."

"I will not calm down until I know the truth-"

"That is the-"

"Don't. LIE. TO ME!" Sherlock bellowed at his brother. "I know Hanna was in contact with you! You sent her those letters that she said was from an old boyfriend-"

"And you didn't read them?" Mycroft inquired with a knowing look at his little brother. "Interesting..."

"Shut up."

"What?" John frowned. "What just happened?"

"Seven years ago Hanna was considered as an apprentice to my place within the British Government." Mycroft explained; he didn't take his eyes off Sherlock's. "She's brilliant, as you know. But two years later she withdrew her application."

"The Monster."

"He wreaked havoc on her life," Mycroft said, his tone almost soft. "She went into her home and didn't come out for five years. When she finally did, I thought it best to send her a letter explaining that the position was still open should she wish to reclaim it. Only someone made a mistake along the chain of command and forgot to send the letter in braille."

"So you sent a second letter," John concluded. "But- why did Hanna act like your letter scared her?"

"I suspect because when she was in contact with me… she was suffering at the hands of Him," he shrugged. "It was a very dark time in her life, John. Any reminder of that time could have set her off."

"Do not try dancing your way out of answering my question, Mycroft," Sherlock said in a low deadly voice as his cold eyes rake over the street once again. "Where is Hanna?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Mycroft rolled his eyes again. "You're the one who hasn't taken his eyes off the street since the moment you walked in and she was missing." Sherlock said nothing.

"What- what do you mean?" John asked the older Holmes boy.

"Isn't it obvious, John?" Mycroft asked looking away from his brother. "He's waiting for her to come home."


	22. Find Her

John watched Sherlock in the weeks that passed after Mycroft's visit. On the surface it appeared that he was getting better. He was taking cases and solving them faster than even. Lestrade was working on Hanna's case so Donavan had taken over handling Sherlock's involvement with Scotland Yard. She still hated him and still called him a freak on occasion but she dialed it down, upon Lestrade's request.

Sherlock put on a good face, but that's all it was. John knew better, it was an act. And behind the curtain was a broken man who lost someone dear to him. He tried talking to Sherlock about it but the other man just shut him down. He wouldn't discuss Hanna or the case with anyone and had John go to Bart's for him so that he wouldn't have to talk to Molly.

At night Sherlock would stand in the window and play his violin. He always played the same song, the same lullaby. John wondered who the song was about to Sherlock, Hanna or himself. Probably himself; Sherlock, if nothing else, was a selfish being. Not when it came to her, John reminded himself. When it came to Hanna, he almost appeared selfless. Constantly giving her what was not asked of him.

John laughed as he remembered when they first moved in together. John was almost forced to call the fire department because Sherlock tried to make breakfast when Hanna wasn't well. Or when he came home from work one day to find the two of them chasing Babs, who was dressed in a pink tutu and a purple cloak, through the house; trying to get the pink sparkly princess party hat on him. There was also the time he found Sherlock reading one of Hanna's braille books with a cat in his lap while she played the piano quietly.

It made him happy, that Sherlock was able to feel something for a woman after Irene. He honestly worried that, that woman would be the end of Sherlock's' romantic path. No one, not even Sherlock Holmes, deserved to have that kind of manipulation. But now Hanna was gone too, dead just like Irene only this time he knew she was dead and this time she didn't even say goodbye to him.

He wondered if Sherlock felt guilty. He left for two days and The Monster not only managed to enter the flat but he also- John stopped that thought short. No, he wouldn't think about that. He wouldn't think about how the last night of her life she was violated by that man- no, not a man. He truly was… a Monster.

"John," Sherlock spoke up one night as he finished that song again, but this time he put the violin away.

He looked up from the book he'd been reading, "Yeah?"

"I'm going to America," he said going into the closet and pulling out a suitcase before disappearing into his room.

John frowned, "what? Why?" he asked as the man reappeared with an arm full of cloths.

"Because that's where Hanna is," Sherlock said as he packed.

John's jaw dropped and he stood up, "what? - No, Sherlock! I know it's hard for you- you can't keep doing this to yourself. Hanna is-"

"Don't," he shouted going rigid as he glared down into his cloths. "Do not say she is dead because she isn't!"

"You are acting like a child," John belted. "Sherlock, you have to deal with this! Hanna is gone and not a damn thing you do is going to bring her back!"

"Give me proof and I will believe you," Sherlock said as he resumed packing. "Until then, I am going to America and I _am_ going to find her."

"Sherlock," John said grabbing his friend's arm to stop him. "Please, if you want to do something for Hanna then help Lestrade find the man who drove her to this. Find the Monster before he does this again to some other poor girl and Hanna's sacrifice will have been for nothing."

Sherlock's light eyes met John's dark ones and he knew he's lost. Sherlock would go to America; there was nothing he could say to change that. "Fine then I'm coming with you,"

"Preposterous, if both of us go then the monster will follow and find her," Sherlock dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand.

"Sherlock!"

A lot of people failed Hanna in her life but those past discretions didn't matter to Sherlock. The only one he cared about was his own. He failed Hanna, and he couldn't understand why this BOTHERED him so much. He has failed people in the past and he brushed it aside, moving onto the next problem. His failure to protect Hanna was inexcusable.

"Mycroft," he greeted his brother as he marched into his office with Anthea trying to stop him.

"Ah, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed looking up from his papers to the younger Holmes boy. "It's ok Anthea, I've been expecting this." She nodded and walked back out the doors, closing them behind her. Sherlock walked up to Mycroft's desk and stood there. He watching his brother until Mycroft finally set aside the paper work and turned his attention to Sherlock.

"Where is she," Sherlock asked; his tone was smooth and not rot with emotion like it had been the last time he asked the question.

"Sherlock…" Mycroft sighed standing up. "We've been over this already-"

"I am aware of your previous answer," he rolled his eyes as he cut off his brother. "But I was hoping you'd reconsider."

"Sherlock-"

"Please," he said finally and Mycroft's head snapped up, his eyes locking with Sherlock.

"What…?"

"Please," Sherlock repeated himself as he swallowed the hard lump rising in his throat. "Mycroft, please tell me where she is."

"Sherlock…" Mycroft sighed sitting back down. "Do you understand the position you're putting me in?" Sherlock only nodded and watched his brother pinch the bridge of his nose before pressing a button on his desk. "Anthea, bring in the file on Miss. Hooper."

The doors opened and Anthea walked into with two tan file folders. She silently handed them out before leaving again. Sherlock looked at the folder in his hands and released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He was right, she was alive, and she was ok.

"Sherlock" Mycroft said, bringing his brother's attention back to him. "Before you go running of and do something foolish, there is something that you need to know-"

Sherlock groaned, "Just let me go Mycroft-"

"She insisted," he said and Sherlock froze in his seat. "Before she left she insisted on one thing, despite my warnings."

"What?"

"She doesn't want you to find her."


	23. Twinkle,Twinkle I Killed Your Cats

Twinkle, twinkle little girl

Who tries to fight and rebel

Even Sherlock can't save you now

Twinkle, twinkle I killed your cats

Those tiny protectors that made me sneeze

Silly girl, don't be such a tease

Twinkle, twinkle fool me once

Hiding away inside your den

Wishing and praying that I was dead.

Twinkle, twinkle fool me twice

Jump into the water and make it look nice

Darling you shouldn't have fooled me twice

Twinkle, twinkle little girl

Two tries to fight and rebel

This is the story of how you fell

* * *

**2 things  
1- yes this is this weeks chapter  
2- I'M SORRY THE FOLLOW UP CHAPTER WAS STRESSING ME OUT AND I COULDNT THINK OF WHAT TO WRITE SO THIS IS WHAT YOU GOT DX**

that is all  
-katy


	24. When?

No matter what others may think, I am not a fool. I always knew that they would find me that neither would ever truly believe I was dead. I knew for certain that at least one of them would search the ends of the earth for me. Because they were not fools.

Really the taxi, pulling put my gravel driveway, could be anyone. A few times over the past couple months it had been someone asking for directions or turning around but this time was different. This time I knew it was one of them. My Monster or my Knight.

To be honest it didn't matter who it was at this point, because either way my charade was over. The Monster knows and will come for me. It was probably Mycroft's fault, he probably told his brother where I was and that of course would tell the Monster. Why couldn't he just do this one thing for me? Keeping this one secret could have been the difference in the outcomes of this story.

The car came to a halt and I heard the doors open. The cabby carried the suitcases up onto the porch were I was sitting a while his passenger stood very still next to the car. When the taxi was gone the man moved. Walked across the gravel until he reached the wooden steps.

"For a dead woman," he said, "you look very well."

"I find that death becomes me," I sighed standing up and moving to walk over to the railing near the steps. But that idiot of a cabby put the luggage in the way and I tripped, falling face first down the stairs. Strong arms reached for me but my momentum was too great and we both toppled to the ground.

I felt warm, firm, muscle beneath my hand as I began to push myself up into a seated position besides him. My hand never left his body as I moved in closer to him, my fingers running down his arm. I guess I just want to relish in the moment of it. To just sit there and know that the man who was always a question in my mind was here; he came.

He said up too, his hesitant hands cupping my cheeks as I closed my eyes and tries not to cry. "Hanna… don't EVER do that to me again." he whispered and I laughed, my hand folding over his.

And then he held me, whispering in my ear how he would never let me go again and I promised to stay by his side. We stayed that way for a long time, long enough for the sun to star its decent and a chill to fill the air that surrounded us.

"I knew I would find you," a chilling voice slithered into the atmosphere. I froze my grip tightened when I heard the pop. His limp form fell against me and I closed my eyes.

"Really my dear," his hand slid over my head gripping my hair. "I told you-" he tossed me onto the stairs, away from my fallen knight. "-I told you I would protect you from the monsters!"

There was another pop and I sat up in my bed. My breath ragged as I lowered my hands into my face. A nightmare, it's just a nightmare. But it was always the same nightmare, my knight comes for me and he dies for it. But this time… my dream was different.

I wouldn't consider myself like sleeping beauty; the girl trapped in her sleep, waiting to be rescued. She didn't and couldn't do anything to save herself. I did- didn't I? I left my home, my friends, I left Sherlock to try and help bring the Monster down. That counts doesn't it?

I stood up from my bed and walked over to the window. I tried imagining the night sky, the stars and the moon; the way the silver light felt down to the earth and illuminated the world, but the image was broken and brief. I hadn't seen such a thing in so long that my memory was failing me. I sat there for hours trying to remember but my mind wouldn't let me. I could only really focus on one thing…

"How long are you going to pretend you don't know I'm here?" his voice woke me from my concentration and I froze where I stood. Loud steps crossed the room and I felt shaking hands grab my shoulders and turn me to face him. "Or did I actually surprise you this time?"

"You shouldn't have come here," I whispered closing my eyes. "Sherlock-"

"No," he cut me off. "You are the one who shouldn't be here. You're supposed to be dead." His voice hissed with anger and his grip on my shoulders tightened.

"I-" I began but stopped when he grabbed my hand and started dragging me through the house. "Sherlock? Where are we going," I asked as I followed him blindly. We were moving too fast for me to track our path with my mental map of my temporary home.

He didn't answer me but I heard the slide of the back door and the rush of cool air as he marched across the lawn. When we hit the wood of the dock I knew what he wanted.

"There," he said tossing me roughly towards the end. "Now, off you go."

"Sherlock…" I whispered, "Please, don't do this."

"DO IT," he shouted at me. "After all the trouble you caused I think this is more than reasonable."

"Sherl-"

"No," he growled taking a step forward. "You don't get to talk; not now. You had two months you say something- anything! But instead you were quiet, made me take time from the cases to track you down-"

"NO ONE ASKED YOU TOO!" I bellowed back as hot tears fell down my cheeks. "No one asked you to find me Sherlock! I told Mycroft to keep you out of it!"

"Yes well you should have known-"

"Known what?" I demanded. "How am I supposed to know anything about you Sherlock?"

"YOU KNOW EVERYTHING," he shouted. "You've know my every move since before we ever met-"

"That was before I-" I stopped my sentence short and shook my head. "I thought I knew you Sherlock, but I was wrong! I thought you were good… maybe even kind… that you kept your promises-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your promise Sherlock," I whispered; my tone shaky as I slowly began to raise my voice. "Your promise to a broken and scared girl all those months ago. I told you the Monster haunted me, that when I was alone he came back. You promised that I would never be alone again. But then you left, and the moment you were gone he came back! He-" I broke down. My head fell into my hands as I began to cry, remembering what the Monster did to me.

"Hanna-"

"That's when I knew," I stopped him, my hands dropping to my sides. "I knew that the man I thought you were was a fantasy. A ghost in my mind that I projected onto you-"

"A ghost?" I could hear the frown in his voice. "What do you-"

"had the same nightmare every night since I left Baker Street," I said turning away from him, to face the lake. "I dream that I'm sitting on the porch when a cabby pulls up. A man gets out, whether it's my Knight or my Monster I don't know, until he speaks. It's my Knight of course, he came for me; he would always come for me.

I sighed, taking a step towards the edge, "but as surly as my Knight came, so did my Monster. He kills my Knight and then kills me… the last thing I hear are his tormenting words."

"Hanna-"

"I only just realized tonight," I cut him off, taking another step forward. "Do you know your place in my dream Sherlock?"

"I- I- I don't know."

I tuned back to face him, my heals at the edge of the dock, "you have none."

He paused, "w-what?"

"You have no place in my dream," I shrugged slightly, shaking my head. "My Knight…. His name is Tomas Mathers, he is also… my Monster." he said nothing and I looked up at the sky. Feeling the cool air wrap around me, like a ghost of a hug. The waves rose and broke against the dock, its sound the only reminder that time passed around us.

"You brought me out here for a reason Sherlock," I said closing my eyes. "To complete the story the way I told it… for me to jump into the lake and die."

"Han-"

"Goodbye Sherlock," I said opening my eyes and giving him a weak smile.

And then I stepped back.


	25. A Ghost, A Soul

**hello loves! **

**sorry this one is late. I woke up this morning and realized it was Friday and then realized that I didn't have more than a couple crappy paragraphs done. any way I hope you enjoyed it :) **

**so im going to answer or respond to a couple of your reviews because I feel like chatting a bit :) **

**bored411 thank you for your enthusiasm about my story :D updates are every Friday **

**The Yoshinator I KNOW! super sad! but important and necessary... sorry about that :) **

**Theta-McBride my favorite commenter :) you always comment on my chapters and it makes me happy. thank you :D **

**ChicagoAnimeLuver13 oh god no! I would never end a story so suddenly like that! my sister tried hijacking my computer and killing Hanna (she's kind of a sadist like that) but I would never do something like that. nope... ;P im so honored to be an inspiration to you! when I read that I was just so happy that my family kinda wondered if I'd been possessed X) I havent read anything by Ellen Hopkins to my knowledge but the name is familiar. I might have read something by her in school but idk. **

**Lady Schmetterling I'm curious... what does Sherlock!b mean? I tried looking it up but found nothing; mind explaining it to me? **

**Gwilwillith are you alright dear? do you need us to send someone? lols I'm glad you liked it :D sorry for confusing you**

**right, that's enough for tonight I think :) onto the story! R&R please**

* * *

To be honest, when I left Baker Street I felt more fear than anything. Fear of The Monster's anger if and when he found out I was alive. Fear of the hurt I would be inflicting on my friends and family. But mostly I feared how absolutely alone I would be while I was gone. Once Mycroft put me on that plane I felt it. The silence that surround me, that agonizing silence eating away at my resolve. I couldn't do this; I was crazy to ever think I could.

But I had to; at least that's what I told myself as the plane took off. Once I was in the air it was easier, there was no going back. And when I landed I felt the weight of The Monster's torment fall off of me. He couldn't hurt me here, I was free.

But I really wasn't. I would never be free of him. That's what I finally understood when I realized that my Knight was my Monster. The thing people don't understand about abusers, whether they be male or female, old or young, is that they don't hurt in the beginning. In the beginning it is sweet, innocent and intense. When I first met Tomas I couldn't imagine him hurting a fly.

I liked to believe in soulmates. People who completed each other. I found that in Tomas- at least I thought I had. I remember when his eyes first met with mine and… something clicked. He wasn't just another guy at a club; there was something more to him than that.

When he spoke it was soft, when he touched it was like I was made of glass and he was afraid to break me. He challenged me mentally and excited me physically. With those blue eyes that almost seemed to see into my very soul. I liked that about him.

His other side didn't come out until a few months later. We'd moved in together and I was doing the laundry. He came in and saw me folding a load and… there was a look in his eyes. I knew he wasn't happy about something and for the first time around him… I was afraid. It was just a flicker of fear and then he walked out and turned on the game. I looked down at the half folded basket of towels and just stood there for a few minutes. I didn't know what to do, what had upset him or why. I just didn't know.

I guess that's when I started to sink. Before that moment I was treading peacefully. When I met Tomas the cord was tied around my ankle and in that moment, in the laundry room of our new flat, the weight was dropped.

I suppose this ending was rather poetic. To physically drown after being emotionally dead for years. I wondered what Tomas would think when he found out about my real death. Because he would find out, he always found out.

I wanted to be mad at Sherlock, but it wasn't his fault. He was just a man, close and at hand, which I imprinted the memory of Tomas onto. A substitute to a daydream now so far away. I wanted to say that what I felt before I left Baker Street was as real, that I did care for him. But now I just wasn't sure, did I care for Sherlock, or the ghost I pushed on him?

It would be easier to separate the two if I could see Sherlock. Right now when I thought of him all I saw was Tomas with curly hair. What I knew of Sherlock's appearance was based solely on the descriptions my sister gave and she wasn't that observant. Sherlock, while he let me come close, would never actually let me touch him; not since the day he made his promise. Skin to skin contact was almost prohibited.

If he had only let me see him, I thought as the water wrapped around me like a cool blanket. Maybe- just maybe.

There was a tug on my arm, someone was pulling my body to their. I turned my head to look up, the white light of the moon shining down into the water, illuminating the sea world around me. It was beautiful, watching the moon beams pierce the water. As I blinked the scene became clearer until I realized… I could see! I was seeing the water around me!

I was pulled into the body of the man who was saving me and carried to the surface of the lake. He pulled me to the shore line and set me in the sand as I coughed up a bit of water. I opened my eyes and looked out across the lake. The trees were tall, dark shadows cast in sliver silhouettes. The night was clear and beautiful, the moon full and the stars scattered beautifully across the dark sky.

"Hanna, are you ok," he asked me and I turned to grin at him. My eyes locking with his blue ones as I beamed.

"I-I can see," I said with an almost hysterical giggle.

"What?"

"I can see," I said again, louder this time. "I can see you, Ben!"

"Hanna…" another voice caught my attention and I paused. "You can see?"

I slowly let out a breath; my eyes still locked on Ben's who was glancing between me and the man I'd never seen before. His eyes asked the question and I honestly couldn't answer. Was this man a danger to me?

I stood up, my cloths, wet and covered in dirt, clung to my body in an uncomfortable way and I took a moment to adjust them. Then I turned around and, for the first time, my eyes met the sliver ones of a man I'd never seen before.

And… something clicked.


	26. It's the Little Things

Eyes are windows into the soul.

Or so they said. Sherlock never really put much stock in trivial or useless things like that. Come to think of it he wasn't even sure why he still had that information. Surely he deleted it a long time ago, what good did it do him?

But as he stood there, on the banks of a nameless lake with the girl he's been looking for not five feet away, he felt something… shift. Something inside him moved, changed, clicked and it was because of Hanna's eyes.

He'd always thought that her eyes were pleasing to look at but this was different. It wasn't just that her eyes were nice; it was that they were focused. They didn't drift and glide across him as they had before. Her eyes were fixed, and they were fixed on him.

"How is this possible," she asked after a moment of just staring at each other.

"I don't know," he said and for once he truly didn't. What was this strange pressure making his stomach uncomfortable? More importantly, how did he make it stop?

"The main compound in the poison the blinded you is rare," the boy said causing Hanna to break the connection and turn towards him. "When it does pop up, it's around lakes like this one. A group of locals go around looking for it every spring; I suppose someone missed something this time."

"Are the people who swimming in the lake going to be okay?" Hanna asked, taking a step towards the boy and Sherlock felt a new pressure in his chest.

"Yeah they'll be fine," the boy shrugged reaching his hand up to brush the hair out of Hanna's face. Sherlock fought the urge to punch him. "To be affected like you have they need a much higher dosage and it would almost need to be injected right into their blood stream. It's very weak in its natural state.

"However," he said looking closely at her eyes. "It's strong enough to affect what's already in your system. The cure to your blindness, Hanna, is unfortunately the poison itself. When introduced to your system it breaks up what is in your blood already. Causing you to, temporarily, regain your site before it once again settles."

"So can I just keep taking it and keep my sight?" she asked an almost desperate tone to her voice.

He hesitated, "I want to tell you yes… but the reality is that what's in your system will never leave it. The more you take the more it builds up until… you die." she nodded slowly, turning to look back out at the lake. It was then that Sherlock noticed she'd changed her hair. She hand bangs now, they made her look…older.

"I figured it would be something like that," she said with a weak smile. "It's always something."

Sherlock took a step forwards and the boy's eyes snapped back to him. He reached for Hanna's arm and pulled her behind me and Sherlock stopped. "Just back away slowly," he said to Sherlock who's eyes narrowed.

"Ben-"

"Don't tell me it's fine Hanna, I saw everything and know that it's not," He said cutting her off before turning back to him. "Now, you stood there and watched her- watched her jump into the water and then didn't do a DAMN THING to help her."

"Ben-"

"No," he hissed. "He was going to let you die Hanna-"

"I know that!" she shouted ripping her arm out of his grip. "And I deserve it! You don't know the things I've done, or not done Ben! You, like everyone else I meet, fall into the same trap; you all think I'm so innocent and sweet- I'm NOT! I've done things and because of that people have gotten hurt- people have died in my name Ben. Sherlock was right to let me drown-"

"If someone would let Sherlock speak for himself some things might get cleared up," he growled in annoyance and they both turned to look at him. "I wasn't going to let her drown- I was going to go in a get her but my mind had yet to, and still is processing, what I had just learned. I would never let Hanna die- she's too important."

"Important," Hanna questioned stepping around the boy. "What do you mean?"

He averted his eyes, "you know what I mean."

"No I don't," she said. "Tell me now Sherlock… or never tell me at all." he slowly turned his head to look back down at her. Her pale skin glowed in the moon light, reminding him of that night in the club. How many months ago was that? Too many, he thought as his eyes traced the patters of the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

"Hanna-" he started suddenly remembering the morning after he revealed he'd faked his death. John, Hanna, and He were all sitting around the table. She acted as sort of a mediator between them and he remembered the mix of emotions he'd felt about that. Intrigued, concerned, territorial, curious, but most of all she made him feel calm.

He was anything but calm now. He could feel his heart beat rising, the way his stomach turned into knots as he stared into her eyes. Those big blue eyes that captured him in their depth and left him awash in a sea of their vastness. She looked so young sometimes, but she always carried herself like she was much older. "-I-"

"Now or never Sherlock," she whispered again, taking another step towards him. He took a step back

"Um-"

"You said I was important Sherlock. I'll stop playing games if you do, what do you mean by that? Tell me now, in the next thirty seconds, or never tell me at all."

All he could do was stare at her, the silver light of the moon reflected off her hair like a beacon; illuminating the dark space around them. He knew what she wanted him to say, but in these matters- matters of the heart- Sherlock was out of his depth. "Hanna-"

"Yes?"

"You-" he stopped, swallowing hard. "I-" he stopped again. Damn it! Why couldn't he say such simple little words?

She nodded slowly as she took a step back. "I guess I was wrong," she sighed. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I thought… well I guess it doesn't matter what I thought," she smiled weakly at him. "Let's just forget this whole thing, yes?" She turned to walk back to Ben, who'd been watching the scene from his spot a few feet away, but Sherlock grabbed her wrist.

"Hanna-"

She turned back to face him, her blue eyes shined with tears that broke his once cold and closed off heart. She changed that, she changed… everything. She changed his world with the little things, like her calming presence that morning so long ago. With the way she depended on him but held her own still. The way she chose to acknowledge her past but not let it define her amazed him. It was her mind that first drew in his attention, but the little things captured his heart.

He knew what to say.

* * *

**1- I just want to start this by saying: if you're looking for hard science and facts and such YOU ARE IN THE WRONG PLACE. The poison used on Hanna is a figment of my imagination. I needed it to make the story work. So if you are confused by it, I'm sorry.**

**2- Can you feel it? This story is nearing its end and it makes me sad :'(**

**3- WHO EVER ORDERED THIS GOD DAMN SNOW NEEDS TO STOP!**

**4- More talking to you guys!**

**Satanmoriarty- welcome to the review party! It's nice of you to join us and I'm happy you like this story so much! :))**

**ChicagoAnimeLuver13- muwahahahahahahahahaha *lighting strike in background* I'll never tell *pulls doctor evil pose***

**Lady Schmetterling- I want them together too! But Sherlock, being all logical and shit, kinda threw a wrench in the plan. =_= but I'm glad you like it :))**

**bored411- sometimes I feel bad, leaving you guys with cliffhangers, but then I giggle maniacally and post the chapter anyway :) hehehehe**

**that's all for now folks! till next friday :D **

**-katy**


	27. Deny That Which You Deserve

Sherlock stood on the back porch two days later. The sun was rising, warming the cool morning air. He stared out at the lake which held the properties to restore Hanna's sight. He didn't know if it was a blessing or curse to be honest. Five years of believing she would never see again only to find out the cure is the poison itself. He couldn't imagine the burden that would be. He wanted to help, to ease her way somehow but he didn't know how. What could he offer her?

The boy, Ben, came out to stand on the porch. His hands in the pockets of the black jeans he wore as he looked out across the lake. If Sherlock was being completely honest, the boy was better for Hanna. He was closer to her age, less self-centered, and training to be a Doctor. He was better for her, but that didn't mean he deserved her.

"She's awake," he said not looking at Sherlock.

"I heard her get out of bed," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "There's not much you can't hear in this house; thin walls."

"Hanna-"

"What about her?"

The boy frowned, "she's tough, but not as tough as she thinks. Sometimes she needs someone to insist on helping her."

"Why are you telling me this," Sherlock asked in annoyance. "What could possibly be you're motivation."

"What you said the other day," the Boy smirked. "I may not understand it but Hanna did. And it meant the world to her. I've only ever seen a declaration of love like that once before-"

"Who said anything about love?" Sherlock demanded turning away from him, back towards the lake.

The boy raised a knowing eyebrow, "come now Sherlock, you're not still in denial are you?"

"I'm not denying anything," Sherlock brush off the comment with a wave of his hand.

Ben chuckled, "so far in denial that you can't see the light. Oh Sherlock, you are a blast to observe. If only Brad was here, he'd enjoy have you as a subject-"

"Brad?"

"Hm?" Ben paused looking back at him. "Oh, Brad's my Boyfriend. He's a graduate student studying psychology."

"Oh- so you're…" Sherlock trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I'm bisexual," Ben smirked, seeing Sherlock's sudden shift away from him. "Don't worry Sherlock, you're not my type and besides I love Brad. That declaration of love I was telling you about? It was Brad's declaration to me. It's how I know you love Hanna, even if you don't see it yourself."

Sherlock found her in the kitchen. She was sitting on the floor, her back against the cupboard under the sink. She stared blankly ahead and only moved when the floor groaned under his feet. "I take it the darkness has returned" he said leaning against the door frame.

"I must retrain myself to be blind," she whispered her gaze dropping down to her hands in her lap. "I seem to have forgotten."

He crossed the kitchen then and sat cross-legged on the floor across from her, "What can I do?"

She laughed but it wasn't real, it was hard and sad and not a laugh he ever wanted to hear from her again. "Nothing, its nothing. I'll be fine on my own"

Sherlock would have none of this. "Hanna, two days ago we stood on the beach of a lake. You had just gotten your site back for the first time in five years and I told you something...do you remember?"

The corner of her mouth twitched, "you said... that I was your incomplete lullaby."

"What do you think that means to me?"

She paused a moment, her eyes sliding, unseeing over his face. "That I am the mystery you've yet to solve-"

"It's more than that," he said slowly reaching forward to run his long slender fingers over the top of her hand. "Hanna... to me the incomplete lullaby is a treasure a... feeling I was almost left without; that I couldn't be without. I-I trust you Hanna, and I've only ever trusted a few select people; before a few years ago I trusted no one, only what my eyes could tell me. You've shown me that eyes are useless when the mind is blind.

"When I first met you," his hand moved and cupped hers. "All I saw was the little blind girl, now I understand that you see more as a blind woman than I ever could. And that -my dearest girl- is why you are the greatest puzzle I will ever face and the one I will never solve."

She smiled, her fingers running across the palms of his hands. "Sherlock-"

"And that means you will never face something alone," he continued, cutting her off. "I will always be here whether you need me or not, so tell me how I can help"

She closed her unseeing eyes and rested her head in the crook of his neck, "when I was little we visited a cabin like this one. When I sat here I could see into every room in the house, could you... maybe describe it to me?"

He leaned back to look at her face, "Describe it to you?"

She blushed slightly, "um- yeah. Please." He didn't say anything but moved to pick her up and maneuver her into his lap; taking her spot under the sink. He understood as he felt her warm body fold into his as he embraced her. He knew what he could do for her and he promised himself, she would never be without him again.

"The floors are hard wood, something like oak but I suspect that is not the only wood used…"


	28. Changes

She posed the question many days later when they were walking down the streets of the nearby town together. Sherlock had been in the midst of describing to her the park across the street from where they walked. They'd visited the park before and he had described it to her before but she insisted on him telling her again.

"Everything changes Sherlock," she said squeezing his hand as her sightless blue eyes drifted over his face. "Sometimes over years and other times it happens before our very eyes. If something should change then I want to see it."

The job itself wasn't particularly interesting to him but her face, the way her eyes lit up when he described to her the road they walked was like nothing he'd ever experience. With him, Hanna could see again. And that was the most interesting thing he's ever come across.

"What," he asked pausing in their walk to face her.

"If we'd met seven years ago," She started again. "If instead of The Monster I met you that night at my birthday party… do you think that this –whatever we have going on between us- do you think we would have it?"

He pondered the question as he began walking again; guiding her by the hand across the street to the park as he thought. "It's an unlikely scenario."

"Then if Lestrade had brought you onto my case," she amended her question. "If he'd introduced us then…"

"You would have been my client." He said guiding her to a bench, "and I would have treated you as such-"

"You're being no fun," she scoffed turning her head to stare blankly across the street.

"I don't know what you're trying to get at," he groaned throwing his head back in annoyance.

"Sherlock," she said very seriously as she turned in her seat towards him. Her hands gripped his and her eyes almost seemed to lock onto his. "Seven years ago, when I was just a girl graduating from secondary school and you were just a man in Uni. If we'd met then and got to talking- how do you think our life would have played out?"

He looked at her, thinking about her question. How would their life have played out? If their paths had crossed all those years ago: would he have seen the brilliance, the genius her mind hold? Would he have solved the puzzle of Hanna Hooper like he's solved every other puzzle he's come across?

"I think I would have been intrigued," he said. "I would have found out that you were my brother's successor and done a little digging-"

"You know about-"

"Of course I do," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "But I would have dug; trying to find out why- why out of everyone in the world did he choose you? The little nineteen year-old girl hadn't even gone to Uni yet. What made you so special?

She smiled and he continued. "Then I would have confronted you- something small like spilling my coffee on you or knocking a stack of paper from your hands- anything to talk to you."

"I probably would have seen through your charade," she smirked, joining in on the fantasy. "But I would have played along to see what you were up to. What is this funny man with the curly hair doing trying to start a conversation with me?-"

"The hair really?" he asked. "That's how you distinguish me?"

"Of course," she raised an eyebrow. "What else would it be?"

"Most people say they eyes," he shrugged. "Or my, quote, arrogance to rival that of a bratty spoiled posh child, end quote."

She laughed, "who ever said that knows you very well." He laughed too.

"What would happen then?" she asked. "We would both be investigating- trying to find out the other's motives. What would you do next?"

"I would ask you on a date," he said plainly and she jumped in surprise.

"Really?"

"Well I would think of it as a fake date," he reasoned. "To gather more information."

"I would probably deny it," she said with a thoughtful look. "And tell you to try again tomorrow."

"Your assumption would infuriate me."

"But you would come back."

"I would come back," he nodded, smiling softly at the girl tucked into his side. "There is something about you that always keeps me coming back."

"Sherlock," she giggled leaning back, "that was almost romantic- you're not feeling ill are you?"

"I'm not sick," He said rolling his eyes. "But I am not well either. I am not in my natural- you changed me and I've yet to adjust to it."

"What about Irene?"

"How did you know about-" She stopped him with a knowing look. "Molly, of course, I should have known"

"You really aren't well are you?"

"Physically I'm fine," he sighed. "But mentally, and I suppose emotionally, I am… shaken."

"Irene shook you too."

"In a different way," he reasoned. "The Woman who almost beat me; she was brilliant, like you, it drew me in. but in the end everything and everyone was a tool to her; used and then disposed of-"

"But she loved you," Hanna whispered. "Didn't she?"

He hesitated a moment "In her own way."

"And you loved her," she said tucking her face into his arm. "In your own way"

"I suppose I did." Hanna stood up, pulled out her retractable walking stick and took a few steps down the path towards the center of the park. "Hanna?"

"When I jumped into the lake, you didn't come to get me," she said her back to him. "You said your mind was processing what you had just learned… what did you mean?"

He stood up and took a slow step towards her. "The name of your Monster- I'd heard it before. When you said it again it brought everything into place. All the little pieces that hadn't fit now fell into place. Your monster came into your life after my brother brought you on as his successor. There is only one other person besides me who would have wanted to find out more about you."

She turned back towards him a confused frown on her face.

"Tomas Mathers," Sherlock said walking up to her and taking her hands in his, "is the last apprentice of Jim Moriarty."

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**hello loves :) as always i hope you enjoyed the chapter! let me know your thoughts!**

**ttfn! **

**-Katy**


	29. Monster meets Soldier

Lestrade was in over his head. It'd been six months since Hanna Hooper died and two since Sherlock went missing. He can't say he was surprised at the consulting detective's actions. He would search to the ends of the earths for that girl if he thought she was alive. While Lestrade wasn't as sharp as Mr. Holmes he could see the signs of a man in love and he could see a man in mourning. Sherlock Holmes, though he'd never admit it to anyone, loved and mourned for Hanna.

"Lestrade," John said walking into his office. "Any news- any at all?"

"I've looked over everything Sherlock complied about the Jack Jr. case," the inspector said gesturing to the mess of papers that covered his desk. "And I can't come up with a bloody thing."

"You were the one who talk with Hanna, yeah?" John asked. "Back when she could still see."

"I am," he sighed running his fingers through his hair. "And before you ask- no, I don't remember the man's name. I never filed a report because I thought she was making it all up."

"There must have been a warrant or something," John said. "You were going to go after him weren't you?"

"By then he was already declared dead." Lestrade explained, "There was no need."

"Yeah well apparently the dead don't know how to stay that way," John muttered bitterly as he rubbed his eyes. "Sherlock, Jack Jr., and, should Sherlock be right, Hanna is out there somewhere."

"That poor girl," Lestrade sighed. "The hell she's been put through at the hands of this man-"

"If anyone could survive it, it's Hanna," John said looking up at the other man. "Girl is tougher than people give her credit for."

"But is she tough enough to withstand this?" Lestrade asked with a frown, "this man has rained terror on her life for close to eight years now, John. Then again I have a bad habit of underestimating Hanna-"

"Greg," Donovan knocked on his door, "and John, you'll both want to come hear this"

"What is it?" John asked as the two men stood up from their seats.

"A man just came in" she said, her brown eyes weaving back and forth between the two of them. "Says' his name is Mathers, Tomas Mathers-"

Lestrade frowned, "I know that name- how do I know that name?"

"Probably from a police report you never filled out," She said sliding her hands into her pockets. "He says she's Jack Jr.-"

"We've had imposters come in before-"

"This time was different or I wouldn't be talking to you," she said, her eyes locking on John. "This is the part you'll want to hear"

"Oh yeah, Why's that?" he asked, slightly annoyed.

"He said he would confess everything," she began but hesitated a moment, seeing the look in the man before her eyes'. "but-"

"Spit it out already!" John shouted loudly making her jump.

"He said he'd only talk to Hanna Hooper!" she said quickly. "The object of his affection."

Across the building, chained to a cold metal desk a man sat. He was calm, relaxed even under the watchful eyes of half a dozen officers and detectives. He was an attractive man, tall, toned, with dark hair and blue eyes that were strongly reminiscent of the ocean. It was with those eyes that he watched to the room. He watched the people come and go, finding the weak links in the system within minutes of being there.

He watched the pretty detective come back into the open room with two men following her both of whom he recognized. The trio approached him, John Watson was held back a moment by Greg Lestrade and the man at the table smirked.

"John!" the man said as they got closer, "and Greg! My two favorite morons! Nice to finally meet you face to face; you know I never get a chance to mingle with my work so this should be fun!"

"We're not here to mingle," Lestrade said with a straight face as he sat down across from him. "you say you're Jack Jr.-"

"I am," the man said tilting his head to the side just a tad.

"How do we know you're not just another imposter looking for his fifteen minutes?"

"Because I'm not."

"Prove it."

"Not to you," the man said leaning across the table. "Bring me Hanna Hooper."

"Miss Hopper is dead."

"We both know that's not true," he smirked.

"She jumped into the channel and drowned."

The man still smiled, "noooo she didn't."

John stepped forward, "and just how do you know that?"

He turned his eyes on the soldier "I've studied this girl for eight year, John. I know her every move, every thought… she thinks she can fool me with a silly fake death like that? Honestly I was most disappointed with the lack of pizzaz to her fake death. I mean, I went out via bus now that- that is a spectacular death."

"You bastard," John growled, stepping forward to strike the man.

"Careful Johnny boy," the man laughed as Lestrade moved to hold John back. "That anger of yours has gotten you into trouble in the past. Hanna made you better, calmer when dealing with your sociopath roommate- speaking of Sherlock where is he? I have a bone to pick with him."

"What could you possibly want with Sherlock?" Lestrade asked the man at the table whose expression suddenly turned dark.

"He's fallen in love with my girl," he said, "a crime for which I cannot forgive."

"And what do you think you're going to do about it?" John challenged, "You're locked up here. You can't touch Sherlock or Hanna."

The man only smiled, "in a matter of moments I could pick the lock on the chain to the desk and use my hand cuffs to strangle Miss Donovan. I would then use her body as a shield and run straight for you, Dr. Watson. You'd draw your gun but it would be too late and I will have knocked it out of your hands and used your moment of hesitation to drop her body and grab you. With you as a hostage, dear Lestrade will be helpless to stop me for that is his flaw, too much heart.

"I will then toss you at the detective and grad your gun off the floor, shooting you both through the neck with a single bullet. By now the rest of the agents would be aware of our little dance and have drawn their weapons. I would lie among the bodies and wait.

"When the agents approach me and take my pulse they will find none and declare everyone dead, put their weapons away giving me the perfect opportunity to shot three of them before anyone could do anything. That leaves two more officers and four Secretaries. The girls will be easy to shoot from a distance, being the predictable creatures they are. The last two officers will be a little tricky but I'll manage to make it out with no more than one shot, probably to the shoulder. Making it to the elevator won't be a problem after that and I'll have my pick of new weapons. I'll take the elevator down, pretending to be a frightened survivor and, when I get the chance, I'll walk out the front door." He stopped; a smiled spreading across his lips as he glanced between the two men.

"You really are a monster," John said, his voice low but full of rage.

"Oh, Johnny dear, I'm the monster all other monsters fear," the man smiled folding his hands together on the metal table. "And to prove it I'll do this-" Lestrade reached for his weapon but the man only smiled. "I will stay in your custody for one month. Every day you will bring me here and we will wait for Miss Hooper to appear. At the end of every day you will sit here and listen to me tell you how I would have escaped. You will then attempt to fix these flaws but the point will be moot. At the end of my one month I will be walking out of those doors and you will be dead. Now, all that can be avoided and no blood will be spilt if Miss Hooper is brought to me before time runs out."

"Hanna-"

"You have thirty days to find her," he smirked sitting back in his seat. "Go."


	30. An Hour and Thirty-Four Minuets

**this is a warning to my lovely readers there are references to sex in this chapter! while the actual act itself is not graphically depicted i just thought i would warn you :) enjoy!**

* * *

I set the phone back on its hook and let out a long breath. "What did my brother want this time?" Sherlock asked from his place on the love seat. "Or did he actually have something useful to say?"

I let out a soft laugh, a small smile stretching across my lips, "how did you know it was your brother?"

The paper he was reading was set aside as he made his way across the room. "should you be anyone else I'd give some complex reason that demonstrated my observation skills-"

"But it is me," I smiled as his arms wrapped around my cold body. "So what will you say?"

"I saw his number on the caller id before you picked up the phone." He shrugged as I leaned into him. "so what did he have to say?"

"Your brother? He wanted to know if I wanted to reclaim my place as his successor." I shrugged as my hands found their home, tracing the smooth lines of muscle hiding just under his soft button up shirt. I pondered a moment if it was the purple one of his that I liked so much.

"At an inappropriate time like this?" he asked, anger leaking into his tone. "A mad man is after you and all he can think about is his successor?"

"Your own inappropriate timing is rather infamous." I smiled resting my chin on his torso. "Smiling at crime scenes, celebrating around a body- Sherlock it would seem that you and your brother are more alike than you would believe."

I could almost hear him roll his eyes as I moved to walk around the corner. "Where are you going?" he asked holding onto my hand.

"I'm going to shower, Sherlock," I smirked, lifting his hand to my lips. "You are cute when you're trying to protect me but this is getting out of hand."

"Well," he shrugged removing his hand from my grasp to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "There is a monster after you."

"Sherlock that was almost sentimental," I chuckled turning my back to him. "Next thing I know you'll be telling me you love me-"

"What if I do-" he asked reaching for my hand again. "Hanna-"

I stopped him, pressing the index finger of my free hand to his lips to silence his precious words. "Now Sherlock, don't pretend you're ready to say such things-"

"What if I am-" he started taking but I cupped his mouth with my palm.

"Then I guess I'm not ready to hear it," I said, he moved to speak again but I hushed him. "Shhhh, Sherlock. In time those words will flow as freely as the wind; till then keep them in your heart… and away from your tongue." And then I turned and walked into the bathroom before he could grab me for a third time.

Once the door was closed I paused a moment, praying that my lie would take. When I heard his footsteps echo away from me and towards the patio I let out the breath I'd been holding. He couldn't tell me that now, not now.

As the water turned on and cold water fell across me like ice circling my body, I let myself cry. Of course Tomas would pull something like this, and of course Lestrade would have to go along with it. Twelve women were dead and their families needed closure, closure only I could give it appeared. Mycroft didn't ask about his successor, he informed me of my role in Tomas's game.

The water continued to cloak me in its icy embrace and I couldn't believe now naïve I'd been. With Sherlock here these last few months I'd forgotten about London, about my Monster and the shadow that hung over me. It was our own little world where we were almost normal. I wasn't the girl with the monster and he wasn't the consulting detective. We were Sherlock and Hanna, a now infamous duo in town where were frequented the bars and restaurants. Every Tuesday and Thursday we joined Ben and Brad for happy hour where we made fun of other couples we saw.

Yes, for these last few months I let myself believe the lie that was our little paradise. I let myself think that it could last forever. If I just closed my eyes and ignored the Monster he would go away and everything could continue to be… perfect. But he would never allow that, Tomas would never let me forget him.

"Hanna? Are you ok?" Sherlock's voice filled the room startling me.

"I- um- yeah I'm fine" I said shakily. "You scared me."

"I didn't mean too," he said from the other side of the glass door. "But you'd been in there for an abnormally long time and I was concerned."

"That's sweet Sherlock but-"

"So I called John and asked him if it was normal for a female to take abnormally long showers." He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "And he yelled at me for hiring a prostitute-"

"He thought I was a prostitute," I squeaked out. "Sherlock what did you tell him?!"

"That a woman who was assisting me in a personal matter was taking much too long in the shower," he said simply.

"Sherlock…." I groaned banging my head against the wall.

"Anyway, after I cleared up the confusion he said I should go check on you," he said in an even tone. "He said that an hour and thirty-four minuets were much too long-"

"An hour and a half?" I demanded. No, it couldn't be- how had that much time passed?

"He also told me about the matter that has arisen in London." He said and I froze, "The one that Mycroft told you about over the phone."

"Sherlock-" I stopped when I heard the sound of the shower door opening and felt the floor give slightly under his weight. I could hear the water hitting fabric, he was fully clothed. "-what are you doing?"

"Why did you lie to me?" he asked and I bit my lip shaking my head.

"It wasn't suppose to be like this," I said bracing myself against the side of the shower. "You were going to fall asleep and I would leave you a note-"

"Why did it have to be like that?!" he demanded. "Why couldn't you just tell me? let me in so that I can help you-"

"Because this is my fight," I shouted at him. "Sherlock, he came for me! Moriarty had him target me- he is my Monster. Just like Moriarty was yours to take down Tomas is mine!"

"But you don't have to do it alone-"

"And why shouldn't I?!" I demanded, "I've be at odds with him for longer than I've known you; why should you change anything?"

"Because I love you," he shouted and I froze where I stood.

"No-no, Sherlock," I whispered, "no- take that back, please."

"I will not," he said grabbing my arms and pulling me close to him. "Hanna I will not let you fool yourself into making a rash decision. I love you; more than Irene, more than my job. You eclipse everything I have ever come across."

"Sherlock-"

"I know you want to face this man on your own," He continued. "And, as much as I dislike the idea, I understand it. So I will not interfere with –as you put it- your battle. But I will not let you walked this path alone either. I will be there, Hanna, I will be with you every step of the way." And then he did something I never thought in a million years the consulting detective would do.

Sherlock Holmes kissed me.

It was rough with need like with this kiss he could explain where words fell short. His hands on my shoulders slowly dropped until his fingers intertwined with mine and I finally kissed him back. Kissing Sherlock was like suddenly sprouting wings and being about to fly. Light, exhilarating, full of passion and… love. It was my turn to let my hands roam, up his arms and into those long, wet, curls that I remembered shining in the moon light that night on the bank of the river. His hands moved too, circling my waist and pulling my body flush against his.

I woke the next morning still intertwined in his embrace. He was asleep, or so it appeared, I could feel his face press into the back of my neck as I moved to roll over. I pushed him onto his back and curled into his side, my fingers tracing circled across his bare chest as I thought. Sherlock loved me, loved me more than anything. And though I'd already known this, hearing him admit it after all this time made my heart flutter in my chest; something that I hadn't felt in some time.

And then there was something else that hadn't happened in a while, At least not while I was a willing participant. It was strange and wonderful, coming completely undone inside his loving arms as he rocked into me, whispering my name against the crook of my neck.

"Good morning," he whispered and I jumped slightly, not realizing he was up.

"Indeed it is," I murmured planting a kiss on his chin. "How long have you been up?"

"About five minutes now," he said and I felt him shrug. "You were so deep in thought, you never looked more beautiful than you did then."

"Sherlock," I said pulling myself up so that our faces were only inches apart and I could feel his breath stir my hair. "About what you said yesterday-"

"I don't regret it if that what you're wondering," he said, lifting his hand to run a smooth thumb down my cheek.

"No," I chuckled. "I was just going to tell you that if you really do plan to be by my side through this then know that I want to return to London tomorrow morning."

He nodded, "I'll have Mycroft make the arrangements."

"And…" I trailed off before pressing my lips to his. "I love you too."

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**sooooooo? what did you think?! i'm sorry i didn't upload this yesterday but im currently suffering from something like the flu and was not going to stay up and edit. anyway i will now talk to you guys!**

**Gwilwillith- thank you! im glad you're still enjoying this story!**

**The Yoshinator- oh it'll be fine... i think... ;)**

**Kate499- hello dearie, i dont think i've seen you around before. welcome and just saying that your comment made my day :D**

**bored411- just saying you have become one of my favorite commenter. thank you :D**

**Lady Schmetterling- thank you :D yes he is a monster and that's just the way i like him. writing for that character is soooooo much fun! **

**that's all for today! hopefully i'll feel better and be able to write more this weekend so that it'll be up on Friday :))**

**ttfn**

**-Katy **


	31. Let the Games Begin!

Sherlock walked with me through Scotland Yard. I heard a few surprised gasps and at least one person dropped their books or flies. The air was tense as we arrived on the floor where they were keeping him. Lestrade was at our side the moment we stepped off the elevator.

"Hanna," he said taking my outstretched hand and holding it in his. "I- am so happy that you are alive."

"I am too, inspector," I said with a stiff smile. "And as much as I want to take a moment to talk about it, I was made aware that I have… a visitor."

"You don't have to do this Hanna," he said in a low tone. "You don't have to give in to his demands."

"Not doing so would mean killing everyone in this building and that those women never find peace." I said in a surprisingly steady voice, "You would all die in my name…. could you bear that weight Greg?" he said nothing as he stepped aside and allowed Sherlock to guide me across the floor and into the interrogation room where Tomas was waiting.

"Why did you bring the extra?" his voice hissed and slithered around me, filling the room with his echo's.

"To steady me," I said smoothly, "you know me better than anyone, Tomas. What am I feeling right now?" the man across from me shifted in his head, his metal cuffs scraping against the table slightly.

"Fear," he said, and I could hear his smirk. "And anger. You've learned to mask your emotions well I must admit. Who, I wonder, taught you to do that."

Sherlock shifted in his chair beside me and I reached for his hand. He took mine in his and I squeezed softly. "Sherlock has aided me in a great many ways."

"So I've heard," Tomas said evenly, I could tell his was talking to the tense man beside me because Sherlock shifted, ever so slightly.

"Sherlock," I whispered turning to him. "This man is in chains but that doesn't mean he's done fighting. His moves are all in the mind now-" I put my free hand on his cheek and forced him to look towards me. "Please, I won't be able to do this without you."

"And she's gonna need it," Tomas chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "The stories I have to tell…. Oh sweetheart I don't know if you can take them."

"Just begin Tomas," I said turning back to him. "You have twelve new stories- so start."

"Twelve," he inquired. "Oh no dearie, I have thirty-seven new stories-"

"Thirty…" I trailed off, feeling sick.

"And every single one was killed- no, they were all MURDERED in your name, Hanna," he said leaning back across the table towards me. I stood up and walked shakily towards the door, Sherlock hovered around me as I move. "Where are you going?! The fun has only just begun!" Tomas shouted after us as the door slammed shut with a loud bang.

I was shaking, Sherlock tried to help me but I shook him off and pulled out my walking stick. Footsteps sounded towards us as I moved farther away from that room and towards the windows. "Sherlock," John's voice called. "What happened? Are you two okay?"

"John, stop," Greg said grabbing hold of the other man. "No, she is not okay…. We just found out that there are undiscovered victims-"

"How many?"

"Joh-"

"How many?!"

Lestrade sighed, "twenty-five not including the ones we found-"

"Oh no," John breathed, "oh god, no."

I rested my head against the cold glass and closed my useless eyes. Thirty-seven… thirty-seven lives taken in my name. Those families will blame me as well they should. Sherlock could try and tell me it was Moriarty all he wanted but I knew the truth. Tomas was my monster and I let him loose. I should have been stronger, should have kept taking his wrath as it was mine to take.

"Hanna," his voice was soft as his long fingers circled my wrist and inched down towards my hand.

"This is my fault," I whispered as hot tears spilled down my face.

"No," he said firmly.

"Yes it is," I insisted and I turned to face him. "Sherlock- he killed them because of me-"

"He killed because he is a sociopath," he said. "And he would have killed whether it was in your name or whoever my brother would have chosen besides you. Hanna you must see the logic in what I am saying-"

I shook my head slowly, "all I see is the pain I've caused thirty-seven families."

"He did it," he said turning me gently to face him. "Not you, Hanna, never you. Now you can cry for these women or you can help put the man who killed them behind bars- for the rest of his shortly lived life I assure you." he tipped my chin up and placed a light butterfly kiss on my lips. "You said yourself that his battle now is in the mind… don't let him win."

~8~

Hanna's blue eyes moved unseeing over his face as Sherlock held her close to him. He didn't want to let her go back in there, he just saw the amount of power that man still had over her. But she needed this; she needed to face her monster.

She walked back in, this time she went alone and Sherlock joined John and Lestrade in the adjacent room. He gave them a nod in hello before turning his eyes on the glass that separated him and The Girl.

"That was…" John trailed off slightly. "Rather cute- you and Hanna just now-"

"John can you keep your comments on my relationship to yourself right now?" He snapped, "After all she is sitting in a room with a Monster."

"Oh relationship," he mused, before receiving a sharp glare from his best friend. "Right, focus-" he said before turning his eyes on the other room.

Hanna was sitting very still, her face a mask of calm but Sherlock could see the emotion bubbling just below the surface, hiding in her eyes. Tomas's face was amused, a deadly smile gracing his features. The man seemed to be enjoying this- enjoying the mind game that he both played and commanded. Hanna, his opponent, was helpless to stop him from dominating the board.

"That was quicker than I expected," he admitted with that smile still on his face. "I was sure you'd be an hour at least."

Hanna's mask remained, "I'm stronger than before, Tomas."

"But from where does the lamb draw its strength," He asked dropping the smile. "Your pet?"

"Sherlock is not a pet."

"But you were warned of the consequences," he said, his voice stern but Hanna didn't falter.

"I love him," she said and Sherlock felt two pairs of eyes turn on him.

"She loves you," John asked. "I mean I've known for a while but when did you two... admit it?"

"As it's no business of yours that information will stay with me," he said evenly before turning to look at the two men. "And what do you mean 'you've known'?"

John raised an eyebrow, "Sherlock, I've known since I saw you sitting at that piano while she sang that lullaby."

"You can't love him," Tomas said bringing their attention back to the room. "You are mine."

"I haven't been yours for a long, long time," she said with a sigh.

"But you still look back don't you," he said, the smile returning. "Back to before when everything thing was wonderful. When we would go to the bar and make fun of the husbands chasing down their desperate wives. When we would go to the park, do you remember that? We would sit on a bench, you would close your eyes and I would describe the surrounding to you in such details that your brilliant mind could picture perfectly." Sherlock felt sick, those were things that he and Hanna did together. He was lying, he had to be.

"I remember," she said and Sherlock closed his eyes slowly. "I remember it very well. Because that's what I was doing a week ago with Sherlock. I assume that the bartender, who was always overly attentive, is one of your people?" Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he look at the chained man.

His smile stayed in place, "I was so close to convincing your pet, why'd you go and ruin my fun?"

"I told you Tomas," she said with a deadly glare. "He is not a pet, and I will not let you toy with him."

"Love, anyone who comes with in ten feet of you is mine to toy with," he said leaning back in his seat. "Does he know you have trouble sleeping?"

Sherlock frowned and Hanna sighed, "No, he doesn't."

"And pray tell why not?"

She hesitated, "he worries for me so much as it is. He didn't need the burden."

"How do you keep up the charade?"

"After he falls asleep I leave and make myself a cup of raspberry tea," she said. "It doesn't always work but when it does I fall asleep on the couch and wake before he does. Once I slept late and he found me in the dining room with the cup still in my hands." Sherlock remembered that morning. Remembered finding her leaning back in her seat with on hand on the table, wrapped around the cup. He picked her up and moved her to the bed room so she could sleep better. He made her breakfast- well he tried to make her breakfast but ended up calling Ben over to assist him.

"You share a bed," the smiling man said with eyes locked on her.

"We have for a while now," she said simply. "Sherlock is a comfort to me. He keeps me strong and in the moments as he falls asleep and just before he wakes, when it's just me and him among the comforters I feel like I can fight the world."

His face had taken on a serious expression. Completely focused on the blind girl across from him. "You say you love him and yet… there has been no love-making."

A small smile crept across her lips and once again Sherlock felt two pairs of eyes turn on him. "Actually…" she trailed off, tipping her head back as if to look at the ceiling. "That was the best night's sleep I'd had in a while."

Tomas stood up suddenly and the guards moved to his sides, prepared to take him out. There was no trace of the amused man who had been there before. His expression was that of pure anger as he stood there. Hanna had frozen in her seat and Sherlock moved to go to her but Lestrade held him back. "Her fight," he said in a low tone. "Her monster." Sherlock looked at him and both Greg and John were shocked to find not the cold, calculating, consulting detective but the expression of a helpless child. He wanted to do something, but Lestrade was right. This was Hanna's fight.

"I told you, Tomas," she said. "You lost me- the moment you raised your hand against me. After that I was adrift, Sherlock caught me. He saved me and I love him, now and forever." A pain like an electric shock hit Sherlock in the shoulder and he fell to the ground. As the world went dark he saw Lestrade and John also lying on the floor and two men with ski masks standing over them. And then the darkness consumed him.

When he woke up again it was to Donavan slapping him. "Sherlock! You need to get up, now!" her voice wasn't its usual annoyance at his mere existence. She was panicking, she was afraid and needed his help.

"Hanna?" he coughed opening his eyes, "Hanna?!" his memory came flooding back and he stood up. Too quickly and he stumbled into the wall. Donavan had moved on from him and was busy waking Lestrade and John, without slapping them, he noted as he moved to the glass window of the interrogation room. "Hanna?!"

Sherlock ran out of the room and into the other but froze in the doorway. It was empty, a cold metal table in the middle and two chairs on either side. There was no sign of Hanna, or Tomas Mathers. But there was something on the table. On the side where Hanna had been siting was a bloody kitten head and a folded piece of paper beneath it.

_Hanna belongs to me, Sherlock. She always has. I warned her that the consequences of leaving me would be severe and so now she must pay. But I like games, and you should prove to be the most amusing. You have till midnight tomorrow night to follow the clues. If you fail my punishment will be carried out and you will receive her head in the post. Succeed and I'll allow you to die together. The cat is the first clue and time starts now._

_-T.M._

* * *

**feel like i've been giving you guys such intense endings recently o.O is that ok? do you guys mind? i'd like to say i'll back off but this is the climax of the story so i kinda cant :/ sorry guys i hope you like it anyway! **

**-katy**


	32. Helpless

I was tied to a chair in an isolated room. As far as I could tell there were at least two doors between me and what almost sounded like an office floor. This was very likely when I thought about it. Tomas was the new Moriarty; he'd been a place like this from which to run things because, unlike Moriarty, he could never handle staying above things. Tomas reveled in rush he got committing the crime.

The door opened and footsteps echoed off the walls as someone approached me. "Hello Love," his voice slithered around me and sent a shiver down my spine.

"Hello Tomas," I said in a small voice. "So you had people in Scotland Yard. Your organization has grown."

"More than you would ever believe," I could hear the smile in his voice and almost see the pure glee that his features would possess. Tomas always loved showing off.

"Why are you here?"

"I have thirty-seven stories to tell you, Love," he smirked as the door opened again and someone walked in pushing what sounded like a computer chair. "And around twelve hours in which to tell you, after that preparations must be made before the Ball."

"Ball?"

He sat down; the one who brought him the chair took a step back but stayed in the room. "Yes, I'm throwing a time period themed party. Late eighteen hundreds to be exact, a period of time with which I am particularly fond of."

"Parties at a time like this?" I asked in a mildly amused tone. "You haven't won yet, don't you think celebrating prematurely is a bad idea."

"Love, it is at this party where I will claim my victory," he chuckled.

"Sherlock will come for me, Tomas," I said. "He's smarter than you, he will find me."

"Oh I am aware he will come for you," he said with amusement. "In fact that is part of my plan. He will follow the clues I've laid out and join us at the party."

Realization washed over me and I closed my eyes slowly, "where you will kill us both- I see."

"As will he," Tomas giggled standing up to walk around me. "This game will show Sherlock the true extent of my power over your life. And now, Love, it's time for you to find out the same thing. I promised you thirty-seven stories, Victims of the game. Twelve you already know, Women who did nothing but look like you. The other twenty-five stories are not like those."

My eyes snapped open, "What do you mean?"

"They are not dead," he giggled as he toyed with me. "I lied to you before, they are so much worse off. You see they work for me now- unwillingly of course. Twenty five people throughout your life that were dragged into my web. Simply by KNOWING you."

Tears formed behind my eyes but I dared not let them fall. No, I wouldn't let him win this. Like I told Sherlock, his moves were all in the mind. My move is not letting him see how this tormented me, not giving him that satisfaction.

"But simply telling you their stories-" I could almost hear him shrug. "Well, it wasn't quite enough for me. It needed something more, something with a little spice." The second person, who I'd almost forgotten about, moved behind me, pulling my hair and forcing my head back. Tomas then moved to my side and held open my eye with one hand. Cold drops of something stung violently and I flinched away only to have him do it again in the other eye. They released me and I squeezed my eyes shut, whimpering as they continued to burn behind what should have been the security of my eyes lids. I blinked repeatedly trying to get, whatever it was, out but it didn't work. The burning only got worse as I exposed them to the air.

"Hanna," Tomas said in his sing-song voice. "Look at me, Love." I whimpered again, this time in protest as his warm hands forced me to raise my head. "Open your eyes or I'll force you to." He threatened in a low, soft voice; like he was sharing a secret.

I opened my eyes briefly before snapping them shut again, the air causing the burning to flare up. But something caught my attention- no… could it? Slowly, deliberately I opened my eyes again. Ignoring the burning I actually started to cry right there in the empty white room. That's right I said the room was white and empty because I could see it.

Tomas smiled as he cupped my face, his blue eyes pouring into mine as I took in the face of my Monster. He'd aged well, the bastard; still as beautiful as I remembered. Dark hair cut into a messy Fohawk that I remembered running my fingers through many, years ago. With features that anyone would find attractive, there was no denying it: Tomas Mathers was beautiful.

"What did you do to me?" I whispered in shock.

"A little thing I had developed," he whispered as his fingers stroked my face. "A cure to your blindness, one that won't kill you." I said nothing as a smile fell over Tomas's lips. "Do you get it yet, Love? My final move in the game I play with you-"

"You have what I want."

"And with it I can make you do anything I please," he smirked. "Starting with our story time- bring them in." he said to the person behind me who I didn't recognize. He moved to the door and knocked twice before stepping aside. Twenty five people walked in as a group and each one looked angry with me.

"They are going to tell me their stories," I said as the door closed behind them.

"Not all of them," he shrugged sitting back down in the computer chair. "I will only require you to sit through three of them. In fact, I already have them picked out- step up," he ordered and there was shifting in the crowd as three people stepped out of the mass.

My whole body went numb as I looked at the three people. "No…." I whispered, not believing what I was seeing. "No, this is a trick. That thing you put in my eyes- it's a drug- something-"

"This is no trick," the woman said. "This is real and it's your fault."

"Oh god," I whispered as my stomach bottomed out and I closed my eyes. "No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!" I shouted. "It wasn't supposed to be like this!"

"What was it supposed to be like?" one man asked. "Sherlock comes in, saves you and you live happily ever after? This was always going to happen, Trouble. There are no happy endings."

I choked on a sob and shook my head as the last man spoke. "Don't you get it yet, Hanna? Tom isn't the problem, it's you. You're the poison. You're blinding all of us and YOU ruined our lives."

Tomas stood up in front of the three; a smile on his face as he cocked his head to the side. "Still so easy to break…. Well I suppose we'll leave you to it then." He said as the rest of the group left the room, his taunting smirk I followed with sad, desperate eye until the door closed and I was left alone with three lives that I was helpless to save.

* * *

**please dont kill me (though i would understand completely) i've noticed how evil i've gotten with these last couple chapters and was thinking to myself "i would just straight up kill a bitch" BUT IF I DIED THEN YOU WOULD NEVER KNOW HOW THE STORY ENDS SO THERE'S THAT TO THINK ABOUT! **

**love (and a bit of fear)**

**-Katy**

**P.S.- im on tumblr (whenworldcollide) and twitter (madefornight) so if you guys want to follow me on there i sometime post stuff... lols jk i mostly reblog funny gifs XP but i promise if you tweet me or message me i will reply to you guys! **

**ok that's all **

**ttfn y'all**

**-Katy **


	33. Theory of Emotion

Sherlock stood near the wall. Before him the table where the cat head still sat. In the other room John and Lestrade watched at the Detective circled the table yet again. This would be the fourth time in the space of ten minutes that he did this.

"What's he doing?" John whispered to the Inspector. "When Moriarty gave him those clues he solved them like they were nothing-"

"Moriarty was a whole different set of rules," Lestrade said. "I don't think Tomas even has rules- not really. Moriarty was order and structure, Mathers is pure chaos."

John nodded slowly, "then there's the other thing too."

Lestrade glanced at the shorter man, "what thing?"

John turned his expression plaintive as he spoke. "It's Hanna."

Sherlock moved towards the cat and lifted the head carefully from the table. Blood still dripped from it as Sherlock turned it to examine the cut. The pure frustration on his face told John and Greg that he had no clue. Sherlock Holmes was stumped.

John walked around into the room where his best friend was angrily staring at the cat head. "Anything?"

"There is nothing about this that would tell _me_ what to do next," Sherlock growled. "He said there were clues- but then he gives me a dead-end!" he shouted the last bit as he flipped up the table, the cat head rolling across the floor.

"Hey!" John said moving to Sherlock's side in an instant. "Hey- it's okay. We will find her Sherlock. We will."

"Hanna means everything to me John," Sherlock said in a low voice. "He said-"

"Don't think about that," John said. "What is it you said to me when Moriarty was the one leaving you clues? You said caring about them will not help save them, right? I know you care about Hanna, Sherlock, but right now- you need to turn that off. Whatever Hanna turned on in you, whatever switch she flipped, you need to turn off so that you can focus and save her."

Sherlock looked at his best friend, the tears that had formed in the detective's eyes spilled down his pale cheeks. "What… if I can't flip it back again?"

John knew what he meant. Sherlock was a man ever adapting. Hanna had turned on the emotions in him before but that didn't mean it would work again. There was no guarantee that he would after this was over he would still care for her. If he flipped the switch now… there was a very real possibility that it would never be moved again.

"You won't be able to," John started, looking into the silver-blue of Sherlock's eyes. "But she will."

Sherlock paused, nodding slowly before he spoke. "Tell… tell her I love her… just in case I can't."

Before John could say anything, before he could tell him that he would be damned if he let Sherlock push her away, Sherlock turned around to face the wall. John waited, praying, wishing that Sherlock would be able to come back from this. That whatever happened now, after all was said and done, Sherlock would seek out the Little Blind Girl.

When he turned back around, the change was noticeable. He stood taller, like the weight of his emotions had been lifted. He looked at John, who could still see the faint tear tracks on the detective's' face, and smirked. "I believe there is a case to solve, yes? Well what are we waiting for?" He turned and picked the table back up. Grabbing the cat head and replacing it on the cold metal surface he started to pace again. This time it was with purpose, his eyes reminding John of a tiger stalking its prey.

"Well," he said after making one revolution. "John I believe you have Mark's number right?"

"Mark?" John asked. "Why?"

"He took care of her cats while she transitioned into Baker Street," He said simply. "This cat bears a resemblance to that of Babs. I suspect they are related maybe the child one of his litter mates- though that line of thinking is useless now. We have less than twenty-four hours to follow the clues or Mathers wins the game. John I really must thank you for making me realize this."

John blinked, "what- what, did I do?"

"Emotions cloud the judgment and take focus away from the most obvious of things," he said. "Like the fact that this game is not about _me_. It's about Miss Hooper the younger. It's quite obvious now that I don't have sentiment blinding me. Lestrade was wrong in telling you that Mathers has no rules- he does, everyone does-"

"How did you-"

"Not of importance," Sherlock waved off the short man. "Mathers' rules are to create chaos for the sake of creating chaos while Moriarty created chaos to profit from it. Compared to him, Mathers is some untamed child; acting on every impulse that crosses his mind. And in a child's mind the cat is simply who took care of them while Hooper couldn't. There for we need to contact Mark Hooper, cat sitter to our victim."

"Sherlock," John said slowly, his voice low and concerned. "Is there any hope-"

"Not now John," Sherlock turned away and walked to the door, pausing a moment in the frame. "When the case is over you can ask your questions." And then he walked swiftly out of the room and down the hall.

* * *

**i am a cruel cruel god and torment my creations. im sorry guys but it's so amusing!**

** so i decided to update today cause it was done and im hoping to post another chapter by Friday although that's not a guarantee cause IM MOVING OUT BITCHES! im finally after nineteen years moving out of my parents house! :D**

**dont forget to follow me on twitter (madefornight) or tumblr (whenworldcollide) to get updates! i posted a sneak peak yesterday so im not lying when i say it'll be worth it ;D**


	34. SPECIAL BONUS CHAPTER

Sherlock woke up one morning before Hanna. He rolled over to see her sleeping peacefully among a pile of blankets with her cats scattered around her. Raising an eyebrow he reached for his robe and slipped it on. As he walked to the door the floor groaned under his foot. He paused and turned to look at Hanna. She didn't move.

Carefully he left the room. John was sitting in his chair having a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper when Sherlock entered with a scowl on his face. "Oh god, what is it now?" he asked in annoyance as he set aside the paper.

"Human behavior," Sherlock said with a confused look on his face. "Humans like patterns, schedules."

"Ok?" John asked, trying to pry more information out of his annoyingly brilliant flat mate.

"Hanna is still asleep."

"I noticed," he nodded. "What does it matter?"

"It makes me… uncomfortable," Sherlock said, raising his gaze to meet Johns.

John paused a moment, studying the other man. "Hold on, are you saying…" he trailed off, raising an eyebrow. "That she's thrown off your schedule and you don't know what to do?"

"Why is she still asleep?" he ignored the other man's question and began to pace about the floor.

"Sherlock-"

"Perhaps she was drugged," he continued. "But how?"

"Sherlock."

"Everything she ingested was from inside the flat. I saw all of it."

"Sherlock-"

"Or perhaps she has been rendered unconscious by a highly trained assassin sent to kill me."

"SHERLOCK!" John bellowed and the other man stopped in his tracks.

"What?"

"You've lived here with Hanna for three weeks now, so you don't know about it yet," John began looking very uncomfortable. "Hanna is a girl-"

"Of course," Sherlock shrugged, not seeing where he was going.

"Sometimes…." John ground his teeth together, not looking at his best friend. "Girls- or women actually-… they don't feel their best-"

"She is sick?"

John shifted, his discomfort confusing Sherlock further. "Yes, but it's a normal thing. It happens to everyone- well not everyone obviously. You and or I will never have this- um… thing."

Sherlock looked puzzled, "so…." he frowned running through dozens of illnesses in his mind.

John waved off his thought, growing increasingly frustrated. "No! It's not a disease of any kind! Forget I said that!"

"I do not understand," Sherlock frowned. "John, you are familiar with the English language aren't you?"

"No it would seem not," John muttered rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

"Well I suggest attended a few classes to refresh your memory" Sherlock insulted his friend. "I believe the preschoolers attend class during the week before noon-"

"Sherlock," John stopped him. "Shut up."

"It's not my fault you can't form a sentence," he shrugged turning away from the other man.

"For god's sake Sherlock," John growled. "It's her time of the month!"

Sherlock paused before turning back towards the shorter man, a look of realization washing over his face, "Oh."

"Yeah."

He paused, "should we…. Do something?"

John sat back in his chair and grabbed the paper again, "just leave her alone, she'll be fine."

"How can anyone be fine after bleeding for a week?" Sherlock asked quietly as he sat down in the seat across from John who raised an eyebrow. "Never mind don't answer that", he said before John could speak.

They sat like that for a few minutes before Sherlock stood up and walked into the kitchen. John frowned, setting the paper in his lap and he turned to watch Sherlock who was rummaging through the cupboards.

"What are you doing?"

"Making breakfast, what does it look like I'm doing?" Sherlock responded as he pulled out a plate.

John raised an eyebrow, "why?"

Sherlock stopped, cocked his head to the side and turned to look at john, "it was my understanding that breakfast in bed was something people do for those who don't feel well."

John paused a moment, processing this. "You're….doing something… nice for someone?" he asked not believing his own words.

"Yes, john," Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. "Don't you have a dead body to attend to?"

"It's the weekend," John said returning to his paper. "Even you know that I don't work on the weekend." Sherlock didn't answer he was busy looking at the plate on the counter in front of him. What had Hanna made for them the day before? Honestly he deleted it thinking it insignificant but now he was desperately trying to reclaim that information.

"Staring at it won't make food appear Sherlock," John mocked from his chair.

"Shut up."

"Hanna."

…

"Hanna, wake up."

…

"stop ignoring me, I know you're a awake."

I groaned into my pillows, "No."

"it's not physically possible for you to still be asleep unless you've fallen into a coma" he whispered my name again.

"Sherlock, someone had better be dead," I muttered.

"I was just bringing you breakfast," he said and I felt him place something on the bed near my feet.

"Get OUT, Sherlock," I ordered clutching my stomach in pain.

He walked to the door pausing in the frame. "You're welcome," he said before leaving and I threw a pillow at him. God save that boy for waking me up, I thought as I rolled over and sat up in the bed. I reached for the small ceramic plate and ran my finger across. Well, he made me part of a breakfast I thought taking a bite out of the now cold toast.

"Are you…" I trailed off spitting the burnt piece of bread back onto the plate. "Not even PART of a breakfast…"

All day Sherlock hovered around me. He brought me tea and tried making me more food. For someone so brilliant he was surprisingly ignorant when it came to working in the kitchen. It took telling him four times, and one threat to shave his head while he slept, to get him to understand that I liked putting the tea bag in myself. By the end of the night I'd had enough. Enough tea, enough food, enough Sherlock.

"Make him stop," I growled to John who'd I dragged into my room by his coat collar.

"Stop what?" he asked, playing innocent.

"He won't leave me alone," I hissed letting him go. "He honestly thinks tea and food will help me!"

He chuckled, "oh really? I hadn't noticed."

"This isn't a joke!" I nearly shouted. "The food is rancid and I'm so water-logged from tea that someone could use me to fill a water-bed!"

"No, I know," he said carefully placing his hands on my shoulders, his tone soft but still amused. "But I'm not going to stop it."

"Why the hell not?!"

"Because I want to see how far he'll go," he said simply. "He's never done this before, Hanna. Not for anyone. Aren't you just a little curious to see what he'll do?"

I glared daggers in his direction, "maybe a little, any other week, but right now I want chocolate and ice cream and to lie in my bed listening to sappy love songs."

John paused, "okay I suppose I didn't think about that."

"No, you didn't" I mumbled rubbing my temples. "Did you catch that Sherlock? I want CHOCOLATE, not TEA!" John spun around as Sherlock opened the door and stepped into the room.

"How long- how did you know he was there?" John asked, baffled.

"He's so noisy I'm surprised you didn't hear him," I shrugged crossing my arms over my chest.

"…you didn't like my cooking?" Sherlock asked, his voice almost sounded hurt.

I sighed, "No, unfortunately I didn't."

"…or the tea?"

"The thought was nice but the execution was pretty bad" I said walking up to him. "I appreciate the thought, I really do."

Sherlock was silent for a moment before turning towards John. "This is why I don't do nice things for people." and then left the room.

* * *

**In honor of reaching 100 story followers here is a bonus funny chapter that got cut from my story early on. I thought you would appreciate it cause it's kinda funny I think :D ENJOY!**


	35. A Good Man

John and Sherlock walked down the hall to Lestrade's office where in the inspector were sitting with his head in his hands. "Up and at it, Lestrade," Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes as he sat down across from. "There is a case to solve and progress had been unforgivably stalled."

Greg's head snapped up and a confused look fell across his face. He looked from the surprisingly calm, although slightly annoyed, consulting detective to the doctor that accompanied him. John sighed and nodded towards Sherlock whose irritation was growing steadily as the room remained quiet.

"Right…." He started eyeing Sherlock suspiciously before continuing. "Well what do you have? From the cat head?"

"Hanna's brother, Mark, is the next clue," Sherlock sighed dramatically. "John would like to use your phone to give him a call."

"Um actually-" Lestrade shifted. "I just got the call while you were… otherwise occupied. Mark has gone missing, for two days now."

"Is it connected?" John asked and Sherlock scoffed.

"Of course it is; don't be stupid John," he said staring off at the wall, bringing his hand together like he did when he was thinking. "Mark is involved in this somehow."

"Right well they emailed me the crime photos," Lestrade said turn to his computer before the detective even had to ask. He turned the monitor and allowed Sherlock to click-through them; scanning the photos impossibly fast.

"There!" he shouted pointing on to the screen. "The truck, there is a couch in the bed-"

"So?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance, "so he has three couches in his home a forth would just be in the way. Also it was with his truck that he and John picked up Miss Hooper's couch and brought it to Baker street-"

"So he's helping someone move," Lestrade frowned, "it could just be a coincidence-"

"Not with this man," Sherlock said. "No this clue is perfect, obvious to me but invisible to the general population. That's how he likes to work; his victim is the only one who knows he's there."

"Like when you left the flat," John concluded.

"Exactly," Sherlock said. "You're getting quite good at this John. Mathers was in the flat with John and Ha- Miss Hooper… but John didn't know that. He didn't until after all was said and done."

"So the couch is the next clue," Lestrade shrugged, "what does it mean? Baker Street?"

"No of course not," Sherlock waved off the silly man's idea. "It's the storage facility where Ha- Hooper kept her things, though a trip there is a waste of my time-"

"Why?"

He let out an annoyed huff before continuing, "it's all over her old belongings, her old life; the place where she lived before Baker Street. We'll need to contact her former Land Lord."

"I met her once," John said. "When I was helping Hanna move in. she was a lovely woman- James is her last name I think-"

"Helen James?" Lestrade asked looking at the computer screen.

"Yes, actually," John frowned. "How did you know?"

"Donavan just submitted a report for a missing person," Lestrade said. "A woman, Helen James, just reported her estranged son missing. Looks like he and his father moved to America when the boy was still very young. He came to London to visit his mother but she hasn't heard from him and he was supposed to arrive two days ago."

"Staying in a hotel room I imagine?" Sherlock asked but it wasn't really a question. "Send it to me, I'd like to have a little chat with the management." And with that the consulting detective left the room.

"What the hell was that?" Lestrade demanded standing up.

"A necessary evil," John frowned. "He couldn't focus on the case, all he could think about was Hanna-"

"And now?"

The doctor sighed looking out of the room where Sherlock could be seen arguing with Donavan. "Now… he's focused."

~8~

My head was in my hands. They had untied me when Tomas left the room, saying there was no reason for me to be tied down, I wouldn't go anywhere. And they were right; I was too captivated to leave. I wanted to hear their stories. I wanted to know how I ruined their lives.

The two men had gone first; their stories were devastating to me. I cried and begged for forgiveness that they denied. The woman went last, she approached me with a confident sway in her stride. I frowned studying her, "I don't know you."

"You don't know my face like you do those two," she said taking her seat in the computer chair. "But you know my name-"

"Irene," I breathed. "Irene Adler… you're supposed to be dead."

"As are you my dear," she smirked crossing her legs and leaning back in the chair. "And yet here you are."

"Yeah I guess," I said frowning. "Why are you here? How did I ruin your life?"

"My life?" the Woman chuckled. "Oh no, sweetheart, it's not my life we're going to talk about. It's Sherlock's."

"Sherlock's?"

"Yes," she said leaning forward. "You've destroyed my detective."

I stood up, "he was never yours, Irene-"

"If he wasn't then why did he save me?" she countered and I hesitated. "You have no answer to that, dear, because despite what you like to think, he was mine. For a short moment. But then he solved me, that man loves his puzzles."

"He hasn't solved me," I said in a low tone as I remembered his words '_my dearest girl- you are the greatest puzzle I will ever face and the one I will never solve.'_

"Yet," she smirked. "He's very clever, My Detective. He will figure you out."

"What if he doesn't want too?" I asked crossing my arms over my chest as I started to pace.

"What if he turned his emotions back off?" Irene asked and I froze. "Which he has you know, he turned them off to better focus on solving the case-"

"How do you know this?"

"Miss Donavan and I have a special relationship," she smirked. "I know what she likes. She really was quite disappointed that he turned them back off. She was actually starting to like him but then again Sherlock can't keep his mouth shut for long now can he?"

I allowed a small laugh to escape, "he has no filter."

"With a mind like that he should have to have one," she said standing up and approaching me. "His brain is what attracted me to him… what about you?"

"Me?"

"What about Sherlock made you fall in love?"

I gave her a soft smile, "that's the difference between us, Irene. You were drawn in by his brilliance, a mind that is one in a generation. One who could help you continue to… misbehave."

"And you?" she asked raising an eyebrow.

"I was drawn in by his heart," I said. "A mind like his- he could be anything in the world. He could be the most powerful man alive… but he chooses to be a detective. He chooses not to take any money for his work-"

"The puzzle," she started but I stopped her.

"The puzzle is only one facet of it," I said taking a step forward as her eyes grew wide. "One facet of the diamond that is his heart. Sherlock Holmes chooses to be a detective because he wants to stop evil. He wants to do good, Irene. Despite the act he puts on he is a good man.

"A good man who I saw from the moment he stepped into my life all those years ago." I continued my advance on her and she retreated, matching my pace step for step. "You want someone to be bad with; I want someone good to be with.

She was against the wall now, her eyes wide as I stopped only inches from her face. "That is why he saved you: because he is a good man. As we've spoken you've continued to refer to him as Your Detective but you know what? Sherlock doesn't belong to anyone, and I didn't ruin him."

"His emotions," she said quickly. "He's turned them off, how you do expect to go on with that?"

"I love him, Irene," I said with tears forming in my eyes. "I actually love him. And I will continue to even if he can't return those feelings. Because that's what love it wanting what is best for that person and wanted them to be happy even if it hurt you."

"You would step back," she questioned. "you would let him push you aside?"

The tears fell down my cheeks as I nodded. "I would do anything… anything I had to… to make Sherlock happy like he has made me over these last few months."

"That-"

"That is love, you manipulative bitch," I growled through my tears. "Something you, in all the days he insured you get, will NEVER understand!"


	36. A Study of Promises

"Hanna" his voice flooded the room and sent a shiver of fear down my spine. "Back away from her." I did. I move away from The Woman and sat back down in my seat.

"That is why I had her tied up," Tomas said in a low voice as Irene returned to the spot where the other still stood. "This… vixen is so small and yet, when she chooses, can appear to be a thousand feet tall," He said running a finger down my cheek before slapping me hard across the face. "now go get ready, he's running through the clues faster than expected and the time table had to be pushed up."

"That's not possible-" one of the men began but Irene stopped him.

"If Sherlock turned off his emotions there's no telling how quickly he'll run through this little game of ours." She said, her eyes flickering around the room, avoiding me. "With no distractions he could be here within the hour-"

"He'll be hell bent on winning the game," the blonde man said to the others. "That part of his personality is plain for anyone to see-"

"Br-" he silenced me with a quick glare and I bit my lip. "I'm sorry-"

No one said anything to me as the three of them left the room, leaving me alone with my Monster. Tomas smirked, walking around me in a slow, predatory circle. "Well, love, I suppose we should get you ready?"

"For what?" I asked in a low tone. "My death?"

He stopped in front of me, cocking his head to the side to look at me. "Not yet- soon, but not yet."

"Just get it over with Tomas" I sighed. "Kill me, set these people free from my burden-"

"I have a game to conclude," he said with a wicked smile. "And you are the key to my victory; no love, you cannot die yet."

"You heard Irene, Sherlock turned off his emotions. He won't care if I live or die. Your victory will never come because the other player left-"

"Yeah…." He trailed off putting his hands in his pockets. "See I don't quite believe it's as black and white as Sherlock would have it appear."

I frowned, "I don't know what you mean."

"And it's a good thing you don't need too," He said looking up at the ceiling. "Now, let's get you dressed. We have a party to attend-"

"You don't think he's turned them off," I whispered in realization. "Not all the way at least-" I was silenced by another slap across the face.

"You really talk too much," he sighed as a couple of his goons entered and escorted me out of the room.

~8~

Sherlock and John walked into the hotel. John went to the front desk while Sherlock paused to look around. It was expansive at least four stars. The staff was busy but not in a hurry, Sherlock noted as he saw a few lazily moving a shack of chairs down the hall.

"Sherlock?" John called and he turned to see his short friend standing beside a man in a nice suit. "This is the general manager, Ja-"

"His name is pointless," Sherlock cut him off. "Can you tell me anything about the James boy?"

The manager was annoyed, "nothing you don't already know from the police, if you really are with them," he eyed the two suspiciously. "A man named Bradley James phoned to reserve a room and then never checked in; it happens. Now if you'll excuse me-"

"Don't pretend like you have things to do," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The party that had been arranged for tonight was canceled and you have nothing to do but see to it that everything gets tucked back away-"

"Sherlock!" John scolded.

"This is a waist of our time," He groaned. "This man is useless-"

"Sherlock!"

"I'm going outside," Sherlock rolled his eyes again. "When you're done chatting about nonsense and things that don't matter maybe you'll join me." He was out the door before John could get another word in. The moment Sherlock was outside he felt it. Something was wrong in the world around him; something was out of place.

"Hello Sherlock," the voice came from off the side and Sherlock a twinge of pressure build in his chest, over his heart.

"Brad," he said turning to look at the boy he'd seen only a few short days ago. "Where is Ben?"

"Back at home," he said with a slight glare. "With a sniper ready to shoot him at a moment's notice."

"Mathers'-"

"Hooper," he corrected with hate bubbling behind his eyes. "It's her fault. Not Tom-"

"And why do you say that?" Sherlock asked raising an eyebrow.

"She's the one who fought him," Brad said looking at the ground now. "Because she fought him she dragged me- she dragged Ben into this. You have no idea how much he means to me- what I would do to keep him safe."

"I think I have an idea," he said studying the boy. "Does Ben know?"

"Of course not," Brad growled. "You really think I'd do that to him? He thought the world of Hanna-" he growled out her name like it was poison. "He would be devastated to know what she did-"

"Or are you afraid he'll be devastated to know that you did?" Sherlock countered and Brad's eyes snapped up. "After all you are aiding and abiding a serial killer."

"Too save him!" Brad shouted drawing in the attention of a few nearby civilians. "All that I do- I do to save him."

"And what I do, I do to save her," Sherlock growled back. "Make no mistake, Bradley James, I am coming for her. I will find her and when I do, I bring down Mathers' entire operation; even if you are still a part of it."

Brad gave him a weak smirk, like part of him hopped Sherlock would keep his promise "well Tom will be Happy to hear you say that." he said pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to the consulting detective. "That's the address-"

"For the event that was going to be held here before Mather moved it," Sherlock finished for him. "That was the clue was it not?"

Brad only shrugged before walking away. Sherlock watched him leave, that pressure in his chest staying with him until he looked away finally. The paper in his hand was a crumpled and creased flyer for a Victorian masquerade. So that's how Mathers wants to play, Sherlock thought folding it back up and tucking it away in the pocket of his coat.

Then let the game begin.


	37. Tomas Mathers

Sherlock's eyes were locked with Tomas' but he didn't move. "What did you say?" he asked confused by the whole scenario before him. The party was dressed in Victorian style costumes, including Tomas who wore an impressive gentlemen's costume. Around them the people talked, laughed and danced. It was almost as if Sherlock and Tomas weren't there to them. But Sherlock had a feeling that if he did anything out of line everyone in the room would turn on him. Which would be unfortunate seeing as he was there alone.

Getting away from Lestrade was easy enough. John proved to be a little more of a challenge when he insisted on accompanying Sherlock nearly everywhere the Consulting detective went. He had to climb out the window to get away from the man.

It was a trap, of course. Mathers made it clear that he didn't intend on letting either Hanna or Sherlock live through the night. But Sherlock went anyways. Something about this case just didn't make sense to him and because of that Sherlock now found himself surrounded by people in masks. Anyone of them could turn and kill him on the spot but no one did. Why?

"I said," the man smiled reaching for a glass of champagne that a woman nearby had held; and drinking, Sherlock noted seeing the lips stick stain on the rim. "Go ahead and dance with her. She is in the room, waiting for you."

"I assume you've colored her hair?" he asked not looking away from Tomas. "Covered her of any obvious indicators."

"Correct," he smirked around the glass. "She knows this room by heart and has been told that tipping you off will result in your death. That I will not be kind and I will make her listen to your every scream."

"What a twisted mind you have," Sherlock said with a curious tone.

Tomas shrugged, "it's why I was Moriarty's apprentice. He said I held the same sadistic quality that he possessed, that I would be a perfect successor."

"The successor sent to spy on the successor," Sherlock said glancing around the room but keeping his focus remained on the Monster. "Miss Hooper takes over for my brother and you take over for Moriarty. With that power the two of you would have been unstoppable."

"'Would have' is the key term there," Tomas said with a dramatic shrug. "But what can you do? Apart from traumatized and stalk the woman who ruined my plans to rule the world."

"Shame," Sherlock muttered.

"Hanna will be so sad when she learns," he smirked. "After all the work she put in to make you feel and then you just shut it down."

"Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side."

"You know that, I know that," the mad man chuckled. "But Hanna is in Love with you. That was always her weakness: she loves too much."

"Miss Hooper will have to learn to live with it," Sherlock shrugged, scanning the room again. "Now you told me to dance with her, another piece of the puzzle I assume?

"But of course," Tomas giggled now. "I love games, I told you in my letter."

"You also said that you would allow us to die together," he said with a twirl as he turned back to the other man. "I could choose to walk out. If I stop playing then there is no victory for you."

Tomas shrugged, "but you won't."

"why-"

"Because your emotions won't let you," He said with a deadly serious look. "Despite what you tried to convince me of I know they aren't actually off-"

"What makes you say that?"

"The passion with which you solved my clues," he said tiling his head to the side. "That kind of passion is only found in one thing."

"Your theory would be valid if you were aware of my personality before we became acquainted," Sherlock said raising an eyebrow. "But you weren't, were you?"

"wh-"

"You were too focused on something else," he continued with a wicked gleam in his eyes, "something that you work very hard to hide." Tomas said nothing for a moment, his face a mask of severity as Sherlock continued. "You are in_ love_ with Hanna, you always have been." The mask cracked and an amused smirk flickered across his lips.

"That's a clever trick," he said taking two steps towards the Detective. "And for it I shall reward you. You will be allowed to leave my party with one person."

"You will kill us before we reach the door."

He held up his hands in surrender, "I won't harm a hair on either head but be aware that my people are instructed to… persuade you in any way they see fit. And it really is in their best interest to try, whoever is left once you leave will die."

"You would destroy your own network?" Sherlock asked with a frown.

Mathers giggled again, "I would destroy everything. You see, Sherlock, at this point _I don't care_. I don't care to win; I don't care to continue and take over the world, which I could do by the way. But it's like you said I love Hanna, she is my perfect play thing, and I want to tear down her world in the most devastating way possible," he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a remote. "With fire."

"A bomb-"

"Several bomb like objects that set fire to all the exits," Tomas corrected with a grin. "And once you leave I will set them off. If anyone tries to escape I set them off. They know their best chance is you and for you they will try their hardest. Now go, and let the party really begin."

* * *

**what's up my lovelies?! how is everyone doing? :D are you enjoying Tomas being a little dick-wad? writing for him is the most fun I have (besides writing mushy fluff for Sherlock/Hanna)**

**I seriously love this little shit 3**

**anyway I hope you like the chapter (as always leave me your thoughts) I have more to come very soon so look out for that! **  
**-Katy :)**


	38. Reasons Three

Sherlock maneuvered the crowd, his eyes raking over every female with the right height and weight that could be Hanna. His face was calm though inside he was anything but. Tomas was right; he hadn't turn off his emotions but ignored them. Pushed them aside and swallowed them down until they fought so violently to be freed. Not yet, he thought. When she is safe, when she is by my side I will let them out.

"Did you come for dinner?" A voice asked behind him and he turned to see a familiar woman. Her hair was up in her usual style; she wore a tight-fitting black dress and an elegant feather mask of the same color.

He turned towards her, "not tonight. Just stopped by to pick up what is mine."

"She's only a girl Sherlock," Irene said walking forward with a seductive sway of her hips. "Wouldn't you rather spend your time with a real woman?"

"She is the only one I would ever choose to spend my time with," he said with a deadly serious look that stopped her short.

"You really do love her don't you?" She asked with a sad smile. "What happened to sentiment being a chemical defect?"

"She made it worth it," He said and her smile fell.

"I see," she let out a long breath. "Then I will help you, Sherlock. I will help you find her-"

"You will die-"

"I think dying at this point would be a good thing," she shrugged. "I've gone and had my fun. It's onto my next adventure."

"Irene-" He started but she covered his mouth with her finger.

"This is the end of me, Sherlock," She said with a smirk. "Let me go out the hero rather than the villain" and then before he could stop her she disappeared into the crowd. She has something up her sleeve, he thought. That woman would never let herself die for the happiness of another. But the thought, the idea that she would, made Sherlock feel a certain soft spot for The Woman that he hadn't in a very long time.

"I knew I shouldn't have let her stay there," a new voice said and Sherlock spun around to see a man standing behind him. "That staying in that flat with you would only bring trouble."

"Mark," Sherlock breathed as the middle Hooper removed his mask.

"My sister was damned the moment she stepped foot in 221B Baker Street." He said looked at the ground. "You know that right?"

"How…?"

Mark met his eyes with a fire behind them that made Sherlock flinch away. "Because of you."

"Me?"

"You love her," he said raising his head. "Unfortunately so does Mathers who also happens to be a psychopath. He was content watching her from afar until she got involved with you. And then…" he trailed off gestured around them at the people. "… then this happened. Twenty five lives ruined all because they had access to my sister… and you."

Sherlock nodded slowly, "this isn't about Hanna-"

"It's about you," Mark growled. "It's about you taking what isn't yours-"

"She doesn't belong to anyone," Sherlock said with a sharp glare. "Not to me and certainly not to Mathers-"

"Unfortunately you're wrong there."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you get it yet?" Mark sneered. "Look at these people, really look at them. Cab drivers, cops, a bartender, a bouncer, a waitress… these are people who Hanna interacted with daily. She always belonged to Mathers. You were just too distracted to notice." Sherlock paused, looking at the people around him and of course. He started to recognize them, the bouncer from the night he followed her to the night club. The waitress was here too. A few nameless faces from St. Barts' and others that were familiar to him but he was lost as to why. Mark was right; since they met all those years ago Hanna was always connected to Tomas. He always had eyes on her and she never knew. Hell, even her brother was part of it.

"Hanna never stood a chance."

"And neither do you."

"She's your sister; don't you want her to be happy?" Sherlock asked through narrow eyes.

"Of course I do," Mark said. "Do you make her happy, Sherlock? Think about the last couple months. Was she happy? Was she really?"

Sherlock thought. It was nearly a year since this started. A year since the blind girl entered his life and changed him from the nearly emotionless robot he was to the man he was now. She made him human; turned him off the path he'd been racing down and showed him that there was more. That it was possible to care and think at the same time.

But what about her? How had Hanna changed since she moved to Baker Street? She was so afraid before he thought back to the girl he found sitting in his chair that morning, now so long ago. He remembered her pink pajamas and the crude ponytail in which she'd put her hair. She was so scared then, she couldn't even say the name of the man tormenting her. Now she marched into that interrogation room. She was still scared, of course, but she chose to ignore it. She chose to take a stand and challenge her Monster. Yes Hanna had changed but was she happy?

He remembered in America, when it seemed like nothing could touch them. Like the whole mess in London didn't matter and they were free to just… exists. While they were there he saw her smile, a real and true smile from his Little Blind Girl. "Yes," he answered looking back at Mark. "She was happy, even if it was only for a moment."

Mark nodded slowly, his eyes falling to the floor. "Good… she deserved it."

"He's holding her life over you," Sherlock realized as he watched the older brother. "Isn't he?"

Mark's look could only be described as a man defeated, "do what I say or I'll kill your little sister," he said shaking his head. "Sherlock, you find her and you get her out of here. Or I will kill you myself." He said with a menacing glare, that Sherlock almost believed, before disappearing into the crowd.

He half expected Brad to show up then but he didn't. Around him the party hostages watched his every move like a cats just before they pounce. If Hanna was one of them then she was playing the part perfectly. Blending into the sea of people as he wondered through the crowd.

Someone bumped him and he turned to see a blond man about his height standing behind him. "She can see." He whispered before continuing on, leaving Sherlock in the crowd of sharks.

"Ahhh," he breathed as the puzzle clicked into place. Of course, his biggest hint would be those unfocused blue eyes. If she could see like the rest of them then his chances of finding her right away would diminish significantly. He turned around, studying the crowd again, looking for any other indicators. Something, anything! There had to be something that would help him! But there wasn't; that was the point, he realized. Tomas wanted him to wonder aimlessly through the crowd searching for someone who wasn't there.

This was his final test; he could almost hear Tomas giggle. _'When she is covered head to toe, when she had been changed and she is just a face in the crowd, can you find the woman you love?'_

"I found you," he breathed turning towards the music. The crowd parted around him and he walked up the platform to the pianist, "Hello, Hanna."

* * *

**HI! SO IM A LITTLE DRUNK... sorry :) **

**how are you guys?! im good :D and having a lot of fun at my friends Alec's house :) **

**:) so how did you like this chapter? i love you all and i hope you like my story :DD **

**-KATY (DRUNK KATY) :D**


	39. The Girl with Red Hair

She stopped and stood up. Turning towards him she removed her mask to reveal the constellations that crossed the bridge of her nose and those blue eyes "Hello, Sherlock."

He smiled softly, "I knew I would find you."

"I did too," she whispered looking down at the mask in her hands.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "what's wrong?"

"You won't take me," she said. "You shouldn't."

"Don't be absurd," he scoffed.

"You should take the person you love," she said looking up suddenly and he frowned.

"I am-"

She cut him off with a hard laugh, "no you're not."

"I love y-"

"No," she stopped him again. "You don't."

His eyes narrowed, "why do you say that?"

Blue poured into sliver as tears trickled down her cheeks, "because you love her."

"Who are you-"

"Irene," she said with a weak smile. "You love Irene, you've always loved her-"

"You're wrong."

"The Woman," she said. "That's what you called her isn't it? _The_ Woman…. As in the only woman who mattered-"

"You matter."

"No I don't," she said with a soft laugh. "I never did. We were never in love, we were only the perfect versions of the people who hurt us-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you remember at the lake?" she asked reaching for his hand. "Before I jumped in I told you that you had no place in my dream. I realized why. Because you were a man, close and at hand, whose essence was so close to Tomas's that it was easy to imprint his memory onto you."

"Hanna-"

"And you did the same thing with Irene," she continued. "Think about it Sherlock, we are practically identical. It would have been easy to think you loved me." Sherlock looked at her, was she right? Did he cover her in the memory of Irene? The two were very similar but they were also like night and day. Irene was smart, clever, and quick but she had a dark streak in her. Hanna was also smart, clever, and quick but there was nothing dark about her. Her past was shadowed but she was light. Was she right? Did his push his feeling for Irene onto a girl who he knew wouldn't use him like she did?

"Why are you saying this?" he asked as pressure started to build in his chest.

"Because it's time we face the truth," she said with a weak smile. "That we never loved each other. We're just two broken hearts looking for someone to fix us."

"You're lying," he said as the pressure continued to grow. "You're lying to me."

"I'm not Sherlock," she said. "Despite what he has done to me and those I care about…. I love Tomas. I always have."

"Hanna-"

"And you love Irene-"

"Don't tell me who I love!" he shouted. His eyes stung and he blinked repeatedly trying to hold back his tears.

"When you won't admit it what else can I do?!" she demanded.

"What are you doing this for?" he growled, "to push me away?"

"Because I don't want us to keep pretending that the daydream is anything more," she said.

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" he shouted, making her jump. Her eyes went wide and he shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. That was- I'm sorry. Please, let's just talk this out-"

"There is nothing to talk out, Sherlock," she said with a small voice.

"Please, Hanna-"

"No," she said taking her hand away from his. "Please, don't make this harder."

"If I do what you say it will be the hardest thing I've ever done." He said slowly, his voice low and lifeless. "I told you that you would never be alone."

"And I won't be." She said with a weak smile. "It must end as it began. Me, Tomas… and a fire." She laughed once, "I never imagined the fire would be real."

"Then come with me," he said.

"I can't," she said shaking her head and replacing her mask. "Go to her. Find her and take her away from here." she stated to walk down into the crowd but paused, glancing back at him. "Promise me one thing Sherlock."

Silver met blue, for the last time, and he swallowed down the lump in his throat, "what?"

"Be happy," she said with a weak smile. "Whatever you do now, where ever you go from here…. be happy." She turned to leave again, to walk away from him and all they had- or didn't have, he wasn't sure. As she continued down the platform, towards the crowd, Sherlock wiped away his traitorous tears that had fallen. She never looked back, her red hair shining like a tainted hallo in the bright lights and contrasted the white and blue of her dress so completely. It was wrong; her hair was blonde, a beautiful white blonde that would have gone beautifully with her dress and mask.

He remembered the first time he saw her hair. He was one a roof top across the street from the crime scene. He saw John get out of the cab and then she followed. He remembered how perfectly she contrasted from the darker world around her. Everything else was dull and bleak but not her. The angle among the scum.

His angel, he thought running down the platform. His angel, his world, his final puzzle, his little blind girl, the one who could frustrate and cripple him with such little simple words but with her he was better, he could fly. Did he love Irene? Yes, some part of him did and probably always would; he could accept that. But his love for Hanna wasn't just an imprint, wasnt just a faded memory. It was real and stronger than the Consulting Detective ever imagined he would feel.

"Hanna!" he shouted reaching for her. He couldn't let this happen, he couldn't let her go. He would never let her go. She paused, turning around he saw the red in her cheeks and the tears spilling from her eyes. Of course she was lying to him; of course she loved him, why should he have ever thought differently?

He grabbed her by the waist with one hand and pulled her small form into his body. His other hand moved up to cup her cheek, wiping away the tears that fell so freely from those beautiful eyes, and he pulled her into a deep kiss. Their lips moved with each other as they kissed with enough passion to set the world a flame. They kissed away the harsh words and lies, the hate and anger; they kissed knowing that when they parted everything would be different. Screw Tomas and his game; screw these people with their misguided anger towards them. When they parted it would be over, they would be done jumping through hoops and would just… be together. No matter how short a time that proved to be.

They parted and he rested his forehead against hers. Their breathing heavy as sliver met blue again and he savored in the sweetness of her eyes locking with his. "I'm sorry I lied," she whispered and he laughed.

"I'm sorry I believed you."

"Tomas is going to be mad."

"Let him."

"I love you."

"You have my heart, little blind girl," he smirked. "You, and only you; forever."

Before they could kiss again a loud bang rang out.

And then there was black.

* * *

**Hey guys! :) so this was an emotional chapter, i almost had you there didnt i? teehee anyway i hope you liked it, if you did be sure to tell your friends about it cause you know im awesome like that... lols jk. please leave me a review telling me what you thought cause if you do i'll love you forever!**

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**-Katy :}**


	40. Masks and Mad Men

Hanna walked home with a bag of groceries in her arms. It was nearly six and dinner would be late tonight. That'll go over well, she thought wearily as she pulled out her key to the front door of Baker Street. Setting the bag down, she took off her coat and started up to the flat. The abundance of voices that floated down the stairs told her that either Sherlock was interviewing possible clients, something she'd asked him not to do on his nights, or they had company. Either way Sherlock would be more annoying than usual.

"Aunt Hanna," a boy's voice giggled as she entered the room. "You're here!"

She barely had time to brace herself before the five-year old child threw himself at her and she had to catch him. "Hamish!" She laughed in surprise, "John and Mary too! I didn't know you three would be joining us tonight!"

"That's because Sherlock can't pass along a message to save his life," John rolled his eyes, taking Hamish from her arms and setting him on the ground. "But, you should know that better than anyone," he mused before he embraced her.

"I should," she rolled her eyes as they separated. "But he still manages to surprise me sometimes."

"Don't worry about dinner," Mary said taking her turn to hug the blond girl. "I have it covered."

"You are a godsend!" Hanna beamed, "but speaking of my husband, where is he?"

"Where is always is," John smirked.

"Of course; I left a bag of groceries down stairs," Hanna smiled softly. "Could you bring it up?"

"Go to him, I'll send in Hamish when dinner is ready."

Hanna turned and made her way through the kitchen and down the hall. In the room, once occupied by John, her husband, Sherlock Holmes, stood the in the window. But unlike five years before when he would have his eyes cast out across the street, watching London pass by, he was looking down at the bundle he held in his arms.

"…it was only then, when I thought she was lost forever, that I realized how much I loved the little blind girl. The flat was covered in blood and I feared more than anything that it was her's-"

"How many time will you tell this story?" she asked walking up behind him.

"until she realizes that any boy who loves her less than I love you will be castrated and buried where no one will find them." He said turning towards his wife, the baby girl in his arms stirring in her sleep.

"Something tells me that you won't have a problem with that," she smirked running her fingers across the baby's cheek. "Not if she's like you. They won't stand a chance."

"And if she's like you then she'll break each and every one of their hearts," he smirked as she leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on the babes head.

"Molly Holmes," she murmured, looking up into Sherlock's silver eyes. "You are going to do great thing."

There was another bang and screams echoed in my ears. The bombs, I thought opening my eyes. I was lying on the hard stone floor, the blast from the first explosion having knocked me off my feet. I looked around; Sherlock was lying a few feet from me. His dark curls falling askew as he lay, much too still for my liking. I rolled over and crawled over to him, my hands searching for injuries when I was close enough.

"Sherlock," I whispered. "Come one Sherlock wake up!" around us twenty-five people ran and screamed, part of me knew that I should go to them; try to help in any way I can. But the other part, the larger and selfish part, had to stay with him.

Under my fingers Sherlock groaned, the vibrations running deep from in his chest. He turned his head, his eyes opening. "Sherlock!" I breathed as I helped him sit up. "Oh thank god!"

"God has nothing to do with it," he groaned as he sat up. "I am exceptionally hard to kill."

"Right, well let's not test that theory further," I rolled my eyes as I got to my feet and helped him up. Around us twenty-five people panicked and ran about trying to find an exit that wasn't there. All the windows and doors were in flames that quickly spread out across the walls. The walls would burn and crumble causing the roof to cave in. if we didn't die from the smoke we would get crushed to death.

"well this is quite the predicament," Sherlock puzzled beside me as he looked around. "How did I manage to get myself into this mess I wonder?"

"Sherlock what are you talking about?!" I asked, "never mind, will you just focus?! We need to get these people out!"

"Oh you're just like John," he moaned. "So sentimental over people that you let it cloud your judgment. People are going to die." he said very serious all of a sudden. "At least two will perish in this fire, you and I cannot save them, so tell me girl: who will it be?"

"What is wrong with you?!" I demanded. "Look I love you and all, but-"

"Oh," he sneered, a look of almost disgust falling across his features. "You're one of those fan girls aren't you? You read John's blog I assume. Follow me around trying to gain my attention-"

"No!" I frowned. "Sherlock, it's me, Hanna, Hanna Hooper-"

"As in Molly Hooper?" he asked and I felt my stomach drop. "I didn't know Molly had a sister-"

"She's not one for talking about family," I whispered taking a step into him. I ran my fingers up his arm and into his hair, pulling him down to place my lips on his. The mansion still burned around us, the roof starting to crumble, but for an instant all I knew was Sherlock and those warm lips on mine. The kiss only lasted a moment before he pulled away.

"While I do appreciate how much you admire me, I don't appreciate being accosted," He said straightening his coat, "Especially not when in the middle of a burning building. Now the only way out is through the doors, of course that will cause the fire to race to the new oxygen and the person who opens the door will more than likely burn to death-"

"I'll do it," I said kneeling down to pick up my white mask from the rubble.

"You?" he asked. "Why you? Surely there are other candidates here among the civilians, yes? Those who have nothing to live for an such-"

"That's me," I said. "I mean, after all it is my fault that they are all here. It's only right that I die for them-"

"What are you talking about?"

I smiled at him, "you will find out Sherlock, and remember this when you do." I said before walking up to him again. I ran one hand up his arm but stopped at his shoulder to pull him down and whisper into his ear. When I let him go I turned around and ran towards the doors. As I passed I saw Tomas standing in the middle of the dance floor. His smug smile locked on me until a piece of the roof fell on him and blood poured out of his skull like a river of death.

I reached the door, Irene was there too and she smirked at me. "Seems we had the same idea," She said as we stood side by side.

"They are here because of me," I said. "It's only right."

"About what about Sherlock?" she asked.

"He hit his head pretty bad after the first blast," I said looking down at the once white mask that was now stained with streaks of blood that had been on my fingers; Sherlock's blood. "He doesn't even know who I am."

"Together then," she said, putting on her own mask, "the one he doesn't remember and the one that doesn't matter."

I gave her a weak smile and putt my mask on my face, "together." Then with her by my side we reached for the burned doors and pulled them open.

* * *

**O.O oh my gosh guys... i've finished this story...!**

**i dont really know how to react to this... i mean im happy but im sad cause i love this story and you guys and im going to miss it :'( **

**i may write a sequel but i dont know... what do you guys think? HELP ME! x|**

**-Katy**

**NOTE: THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER!**


	41. Why?

Mark sat at the end of the bed. His hands were bandaged and his hair had been cut to remove the burned chunks. He wore a loose-fitting t-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans. His blue eyes were fixed on the sleeping girl before him when Molly came in.

"Any change?" she asked in a small voice from the doorway.

He swallowed, "no."

"I brought you coffee," she said walking behind her brother. "I thought you might need some."

"I'm fine."

"And because you think that's true is how I know you're not," she said handing him the cup. "The doctor said she will live-"

"But he has no idea if or when she'll wake," he snapped. "This is our sister, Molly. One I was forced to spy on and-" he choked up as tears he'd been holding in for nearly a week spilled down his cheeks. Molly set aside the coffee to hug him as he wept into her arms.

Outside the room, John stood in the hall with Sherlock. His dark eyes locked on the shambles that was the Hooper family. Beside him Sherlock couldn't be more board.

"Why are we here again?" he asked with a huff.

"That's our flat mate in there." John almost growled. "We should go give our sympathies-"

"You keep saying she's our flat mate but I don't remember her," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And even if I did know the girl like everyone keeps claiming, I don't know here now. What could I say that would help anything?"

John sighed looking at his friend, "you don't get it Sherlock. It's not your words that matter now, it's your presence. So say something or say nothing just get your arse in there before I drag it in." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the smaller man's threat but walked with him to the door. John knocked and Molly looked up, her eyes going hard when she saw the consulting detective in the doorway.

"No, get him out of here!" she growled.

"Me?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Yes you, you…" she trailed off, unable to think of a suitable insult. "Anyway it doesn't matter just leave!"

"What have I done?" he asked with a sigh of boredom.

"That!" she shouted. "You don't care! You've forgotten my sister, turned your emotions back off… right now you are the last thing I want near her. She needs to get better and she can't do that if you- with your indifference and board sighs- are here breaking her!"

"I don't understand what you mean," he shrugged. "Why should I matter to the girl, I didn't know her."

"Yes, you did," John said looking up at the man. "You knew her, and she knew you. Better than anyone I've ever seen you interact with. Sherlock you loved her-"

"Oh don't go on with that nonsense again," he moaned. "I keep telling you that I must not have if it was so easy to forget her-"

"Hello?" a new voice flooded the room as they turned to see a young man standing in the door way. He was tall and thin, with pale skin and deep blue eyes. With one hand in his pocket and the other running through his dark mess of hair, he looked very innocent.

"Who are you?" John asked in a gentle tone.

"My name is Ben," he said. "My boyfriend, Brad, died saving her. I'm a friend of Hanna's." ah yes, Sherlock remembered seeing a blonde man pull the Girl away, as she opened the door, and covering her with his body. He died so she would live.

"I've never heard of you before," Molly frowned but Mark cleared his throat.

"They met in America," he said. "He was her best friend over there. Brad was forced into helping Mathers because if he didn't then Ben would die."

"It's funny, I had a sniper on my back and the man I loved was helping a serial killer, but I had no idea," he laughed once but there was no amusement to it. "Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and see her before I left-"

"Most people in your situation would blame Miss Hooper for the death of their loved one," Sherlock frowned, cocking his head to the side.

Ben looked up at him, a very sad and very tired smile crossing his lips, "you really don't remember her do you? No one blames Hanna, how could we? They were forced to spy on her but they also got to know her in the meantime. Hanna, though she would never think it of herself, is one of those innocent souls that are impossible to hate. She radiates joy and love, when she speaks it is like the world around you fades away and all that matters are her words. She is kind and gentle and would never hurt anyone should she have a chance to stop it. We all adore Hanna, and not one of us could _ever_ hate her."

Sherlock frowned, "you think an awful lot of her."

Ben let out another laugh, this one lighter as he walked around the group to take a seat beside the girl on the bed. "There was a time when you did too. You loved her Sherlock, more than anyone has ever loved-…." He stopped short, his eyes falling to the blue blanket that covered the motionless body before him. "Well… almost anyone." He took her hand in his before looking back at the Detective.

"Sherlock, I will email you photos that we took while you and she were in America," he said. "Photos, bar tabs, anything you need to jog your memory of her. Just remember her, please. There is no reason that Mathers still manage to destroy your relationship while he lies dead in his grave."

"I'll ask Lestrade to send over the tapes of Mathers in the interrogation room." John said from behind him. "And the file on her case."

"I send you all the surveillance pictures Mathers sent me," Mark said. "There are a few hundred of them but it'll help-"

"No," a new voice groaned and everyone turned to look at the bed. This was the first time Sherlock had actually looked at the Girl, he didn't like what he saw. Her entire body wad red and swollen. Her arms were bandaged heavily where the fire licked her skin. Her red hair was cropped short and uneven, Sherlock assumed that Molly had attempted to save her sister from seeing the burnt dead mess. Everywhere else she was vertically untouched.

"Hanna, you're awake!" Molly gasped racing to her sister's side, across from Ben.

"Unfortunately," she said in a small voice.

"Don't say that," John said moving to stand beside Mark at the foot of the bed

"I was ready to die for those people," she said, her already weak voice breaking down as she spoke. "Brad should have let me, now he's gone and I have to live with it."

"Hanna, Brad saved you to make up for believing Tomas," Ben whispered to the small broken girl. "He did it to be forgiven-"

"He was always forgiven," She whispered back, tears spilling down her cheeks "Always and completely forgiven, but now what of me? How will I ever be forgiven for my part in this?"

"You are forgiven Hanna!" Molly said, her own tears flowing. "No one blames you." Hanna just shook her head and looked away from everyone.

"You blame yourself," Sherlock said from the back wall. "Don't you Miss Hooper?" They parted from around the bed allowing Sherlock to walk up beside her, where Molly had stood.

"Sherlock," she breathed, her blue eyes sparkling with tears.

"I am right," he said. "You do blame yourself, even though everyone around you tells you differently. You can't forgive your role as the victim."

"I'm not a victim," she whispered. "I'm as good as an accomplice-"

"You did no-"

She stopped John with a swift glare that made the doctor fall silent. "You can try to convince me otherwise all you want. I know I could have- I should have- done more. But I didn't, Irene and Brad died because of me. I should have done everyone a favor and died with them."

"But you didn't," Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

She frowned, "what do you mean?"

He shrugged, "when in a condition such as yours some believe it is possible to just let yourself die… unless you have something to live for. So what is it Miss Hooper? What have you to live for?"

She looked at him through eyes that had seen too much for a girl of her age. The weight of her memories and the demons among them showed in her eyes. But through that he could see the smallest light. She had a million reasons to let herself die that much was true; but he knew she had one reason to hold on.

"You'll think it's silly," she whispered, "since you've been reset to factory defaults and everything."

"Try me."

She gave him a half-smile, letting her eyes drop to her hands. "After the first explosion I fell to the ground. I hit my head just like you but while I lay unconscious… I had a vision"

"A vision?" John asked and she shrugged looking up at him.

"Maybe not a vision, more like a dream I suppose" she said. "Anyway, it surprised me how much I wanted it. I never thought much of it before then but now…. I want it with every fiber of my being. And it's so selfish… to want a happy ending when I'd been a part of so much pain."

"Is it safe to assume that I was part of this happy ending?" Sherlock asked turning towards the window.

"You were." All were silent for a moment before John spoke up.

"Hanna you said no, before," he started. "When we were talking about the thing we possess to help jog Sherlock's memory."

She nodded, "I did."

"Why?"

She met his eyes straight on as she spoke, "because it won't work."

"Are you saying my memories are incapable of returning?" Sherlock inquired, his back still to her.

"No, of course not," she said not looking at him either. "But I must act like they will never come back. We can't start if I'm at the finish line. You don't know me, putting all my memories on you would only push you away. I have to start at the beginning too and maybe, just maybe, build something new with you if that's what you want when we get there."

"How do you plan to accomplish that?" Ben asked and she looked over at him, her eyes slowly moving around the circle until she stopped at Sherlock's back.

"By leaving Baker Street."

* * *

**oh my gosh guy! i never expected that kind of response in a million years! thank you for loving this story as much as i do! **

**so as to the whole sequel thing... IM DOING IT! after having my life threatened on mibba {another fanfiction website} i thought it best to keep going and surprisingly the ideas have flowed like crazy!**

**i do feel like this story has a final enough ending that if you dont want to continue then you dont have too but if you want more of Hanna/Sherlock then i'm happy to oblige :) **

**the sequel is in the works now and will be called: ****_Speak no Lies_**

**a friend wanted me to go on with the "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil" thing but i thought it was too corny and that this would fit better for Hanna and Sherlock. **

**this is a warning, what i have planned for the story is not happy mushy fluff. it is sad, it is tragic and it will hurt. i will not go easy on them and you may hate me for it but i do hope you'll read on anyway. **

**thank you again for the love you've shown this story! i have one more chapter before it is over and then it's onto the sequel! **

**ttfn**

**-Katy**


	42. A Study of Jekyll, Hyde and Goodbye

Two weeks later Hanna stood in her room at Baker Street. She squinted as she looked around; a fog, only she could see, clouded her vision. Her possessions were packed and on their way across the ocean. In the living room her friends and family had gathered to see her off but she lingered in the back by herself.

Her burns were mostly healed but she would bear the scars on her arms for the rest of her life. She didn't mind them; they were a part of her now. Part of her story and history; a reminded of the final fight between her and her Monster. another, more temporary, part was her bright red hair. It was cut short, above her ears with long bangs that fell over her left eye. More than likely she would not keep it like that. She missed her long hair.

Sherlock opened the door but she didn't flinch. Her eyes stayed locked on the window as she spoke, "when did you figure it out?"

"My brother wouldn't let you stay overseas for three years," he said walking forward, slipping his hands into his pockets. "John informed me a week ago that you were set to take on his job when he retired. After that it was easy enough to deduce your plan."

"And yet you haven't told the others," she said turning towards him, her still red hair falling into her eyes. "I plan to go work for your brother."

"It is your decision," he shrugged. "Why should I interfere?"

"You always interfere, Sherlock." She said giving him a pointed look.

He shrugged, his lips pressing into a hard-line, "maybe I do, maybe that part of me I don't remember."

Her eyes turned sad and she nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor, "maybe."

"You had blond hair," he said and she froze. "I can't seem to stop thinking about that: blonde hair. An Angel among the scum. Pointless words really, no meaning that I can deduce."

Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet his and a smile twitched the corners of his mouth. "Do you know what I did after you run off on your suicide mission?" She shook her head. "I searched a body."

"What-"

"The body of the man you were looking at when you ran by," He said taking a step towards her. "He was the only one not panicking, besides myself. It was safe to assume that he was the mastermind behind the neat little trap. So I searched him, he only had two things on him. The remote trigger-"

"And?" she whispered.

He smirked pulling out a bottle, about as long at his thumb, filled with a clear liquid. She let out a shaky breath, her blue eyes shined with tears as she took a step into the wall to steady herself. "The cure."

"Yes," he said rolling it around in his hand. "John told me about your situation so I, with the help of the boy, Ben, examined the contents of this bottle." His expression softened as he placed it in her hands. "He may have been a psychopath but he was also a genius, that has no negative connotations and actually helps flush the poison from your system."

The tears fell from her eyes and rolled down her freckled cheeks. "Thank you… Sherlock."

He looked at her for a moment before his hand rose up to wipe away the stray tears. Her eyes locked with his, a question bubbling just under the surface. "I don't remember you," he said and her expression fell, "but I have, despite your request, looked at all the video footage and pictures. I hardly recognize the man you are with in them."

She nodded, her gaze falling to his shirt. "I know, you changed so much in the time I've known you. I didn't realize how much until you forgot."

"Jekyll and Hyde"

She laughed, "So it would appear."

"Hyde can be a smart ass," he said cocking his head to the side.

"So can Jekyll."

"But Jekyll was kind."

She laughed again, harder this time, "only on the rare occasion I caught him off guard. I think you misunderstand Jekyll, for he and Hyde share more than you believe."

Sherlock cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I will look for him, for Jekyll."

She smiled through her tears, "don't force yourself. I want you to remember but I want you to want it."

He smirked, "does Hyde ever do anything he doesn't want to?"

Her smile stayed as she brought up a hand to run her fingers down his cheeks, tracing their curves. "Then this is not goodbye, it is simply, till next time."

He smiled, "till next time… Hanna."

"You've no idea how much I want to kiss you right now," she chuckled taking a step towards the door.

"Why don't you?"

She glanced back at him, her eyes alive and bright as she locked with his. "Find Jekyll… and then find me."

"That could prove to be difficult," he said raising an eyebrow. "My brother will hide you."

"You're a smart man Sherlock," she smirked. "I'm sure you'll figure it out, till then." She inclined her head in goodbye and with that The Little Blind Girl left The Consulting Detective standing alone in their bedroom.

Sherlock smiled softly, walking over to the nightstand where a braille copy of a novel still sat. "Till then… my lullaby."

* * *

**OHMYGOD! ARE YOU GUYS CRYING? CAUSE IM CRYING! **

**just, wow, Thank you, all of you. i love you all so much and your support and encouragement has been overwhelming on this little adventure of ours. **

**i'll be posting a little introduction chapter of ****_Speak no Lies_**** after i post this so if you want to continue to read on with Sherlock, Hanna and I then head over there! i'm going to keep posting every friday so look out for that! **

**thank you all again. i could not have continued or gotten this far without all of you. words will never describe exactly how grateful and honored i am. whether this is the last story of mine you read or if you venture into others just know that i adore you. 3333 **

**love forever,**

**-Katy :} **


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